Year of the Snake
by Copperhead
Summary: The Year of the Snake: Please R+R and enjoy. Copperhead is watching. Q_Q
1. And It Did Tempt...

Author's note: All characters are copyright their respective creators. I do not own Transformers and I am not affiliated with Hasbro or Takara, Mainframe or Alliance, nor should any affiliation be inferred, implied or assumed. Enjoy the fic. Historian's note: "Indeterminate Timeframe" events occur shortly after Aftermath, following the Coming of the Fuzors, and before "Other Visits". G1-set chapters take place shortly before Transformers: the Movie, dates as given. 

**Year of the Snake- Part 1**

****Prologue; Open Space, Earth Year 1961**  
Drifting. Blackness. Very cold. No pain. No senses at all. Only darkness.   
Had it been so long since his ship blew up, stranding him in the middle of nowhere? The internal chronometer placed it at sixteen solar months, four days. Almost a year and a half of drifting aimlessly, banished to this void, had passed.   
Then, a planet, rushing toward him like a bolt. Blue and green, it grew as he fell toward it, the heat of its atmosphere burning against his metal skin, ripping chunks away. "Too much..." he said, his first word in months. He slipped into unconsciousness, then crashed into the ocean. 

****Earth; Indeterminate Timeframe**  
Copperhead knew one thing: run. The two canines were at his feet, yipping and yowling, before he'd even known who or where he was. Lush, tropical atmosphere, high deposits of methane and carbon dioxide in the air, yet enough oxygen to sustain an immense ecosystem. He couldn't look back, otherwise he'd lose speed. He couldn't turn, these two were master hunters, and knew chasing him directly would tire him out faster. 

"Maybe it's time," Copper grunted aloud as he ran, "to employ a bit of strategy." He leapt up, clinging to a treebranch, kipping his legs up in front of him for stability. He shut his eyes, concentrated, and within moments the coyote and her lupine friend broke off the chase, turning and running back to where they came. "Too easy," he thought as he dropped from the trees. "Maybe switching to beast mode would keep them off my trail for a bit." 

"Wolves like eating snakes," came a female voice from behind him. It sounded vaguely familiar, but Copper was still too disoriented to realize exactly who was talking. He did, however, recognize the sound of a blaster charging, and he raised his hands in defeat. "And that coyote does whatever the wolf does... I should know, they're my kids." 

The voice registered in his mind finally. "Arty!" Copper hissed, grimacing. Yet, there was also an upside to this. She wouldn't turn him into Prime for detention. Copper turned, arms still up, and looked at Arty. 

"Long time no see, Artemis," Copper said. 

"Who the slag are you and why the slag were you trying to hurt my kids?" she growled, training the gun on Copperhead's forehead, which sported a large, V-Shaped fork. 

"What are you talking about, _kids_?" 

"Inuarai and Blancwulf, the two that were chasing you. Your pod crashed- a PREDACON stasis pod- in my territory." Artemis was obviously not happy that she was face to face with her old friend. Did she even realize who he was? 

"Arty..." 

"DON'T call me that." She was now livid, her stellar blue optics narrowing and her feline lip curling. "My designation is Pantera, Maximal Elder, and you are a Predacon spy." 

"Well, yeah... don't you even wanna know who you're talking to?" Copper smirked. ==Or would you rather I ruin the surprise?== Copper's eyes flashed bright green as the thoughts speared themselves into Artemis's brain. ==Don't you recognize the voice of your... brother-in-law... I might say?== 

"You're slottin' out of your mind..." 

"And in yours, Tera!" Copper howled, his stomach heaving with laughter. "I hate to pry..." Copper sniggered, ==but it's just too much fun.== 

"GET... OUT... OF MY... MIND!" Pantera shrieked, opening fire on Copper. 

The blast from her pistol hit Copperhead in the midriff, passed through him and buried itself in a tree, but there was something Pantera didn't realize about this snake: he wasn't actually there. 

Copperhead was still clinging to a treebranch half a klick away. He cackled inside Pantera's mind. 

==Never run afoul of a serpent, my dear. You're bound to get the fangs.== 

Copper dropped from his tree perch and ran toward the forest, leaping over Pantera (incidentally kicking her in the back of her head in the scuffle) and disappearing in the waning light. The last sounds Pantera heard as the enemy vanished- though she could not be certain she was physically hearing them or whether they were inside her mind- was Copperhead's vague laughter and two words: "Remember Parseltongue?" 

*** 

Sin was bitching, as usual, about something unimportant. "Megatron is glitched in the head, asking me to do... MENIAL PHYSICAL LABOR... this is not the task of a great Predacon mind." 

"Armzzzbot shut her zzztinking wordhole and work like Megatron sayzzzz..." Waspinator droned, grabbing a burnt-out energon sink and tossing it to Sin. She caught it in her upper pair of hands. "Or Megatron will get Unicronic on armzzzbot'zzzz azzzzz." 

Sin rolled her optics back in her head and threw the energon sink into the smelter. "And what, pray tell, is Megatron's desire with all this smelting?" 

"Megatron wantzzz Armzzzbot'zzz loyalty," the bug buzzed again. Why, in the blue blazes of the Inferno, had this yahoo been assigned to the most powerful Predacon destroyer in the fleet? "Zzzo he zzzendzzz you to do degradinggg worrrrk. Zzzo get workinggggg..." Waspinator's wings buzzed as he lifted off, going to order around one of the other over-qualified workers Megatron had appointed to this task. 

Sin muttered something under her breath about final, exacting revenge... the fall of a tyrant and the birth of a queen, but Waspinator didn't catch it. 

"Hello, Tenderfoot," came a drawling, lecherous voice from behind her. Sin knew without looking that Quickstrike, the most despicable of the Fuzors, was standing behind her, ogling her skidplates. 

"If you want something, Scalebrain, it would do well to ask instead of looking at my butt." Sin folded her wings down over her skidplate to block off Quickstrike's little peepshow. "Now," Sin growled, standing and, using a tiny little old Decepticon technique, increasing her height, "what do you want?" 

"Uhh... umm... Ah..." 

"Then go away." Sin's three fingered hand danced with an orange glow she called a Curse Ring- the energetic manifestation of Sin's connection to the Matrix. Her sister had died so she could have this power. A slight twitch of her arm, as if to raise it, and Quickstrike ran off like a rocket. Sin's optics just rolled over again. "Men." 

* * * 

Copperhead rocketed through the forest, ducking out of the way of branches and vines, creeper and wild animals. Twice the growl and spit of a jaguar broke the silence of the forest, but Copper knew he was safe: Pantera's roar would have had obvious markings to its sound- a mechanical "tag" in several of the audio tracks distinguishing the sounds as Cybertronian. These roars were pure fleshie. 

"Can I say one thing?" Copper said to himself as he paused, energon reserves low. "I hate running." Copperhead looked around, and sensing no sign of Cybertronian life, began his trek again. Where to? His mind clicked onto a name- the _Darkside_- but Copper had yet to regain all his memory tracks. The _Darkside_ was exactly what? It's something Copper simply KNEW he should remember, but... 

"By Swindle, I've got it!" Copper shouted aloud. "Megatron's there. I have to get to..." Copper cocked his head. "Why Megatron?" 

No answer came. "I'm a Predacon. But why..." 

No answer came, of course. At length, Copper returned his question. "I'm a Predacon. But why must I..." Copperhead paused again, considering why he felt so strangely compelled. "Computer, access datatrax-" The computer grumbled and spat out a response in its irritatingly nonplussable voice. "Data systems damaged; unable to complete command." 

Copperhead growled. Maybe it was time to get back to the Darkside, whatever that was. 

"Computer, can you locate the Darkside?" he asked as clearly as possible, just in case the computer malfunctioned. 

"Predacon Battlecruiser Darkside," it started, then projected a glitchy holo-map linking his position to the Darkside. Copper realized the scale of the map and groaned. Halfway across the continent... damned Stasis Pod had gone down in entirely the wrong area. 

"Guess I'd better head out," Copper said to himself. He'd not taken ten steps with the sounds of voices- these were no biological bloodsacks, but the sounds of Cybertronians speaking. One was male, the other two, femmes. The two female voices had very distinctive speech patterns- they'd been the canines who'd chased him earlier. The third, the whiney young bot, was someone new. Probably their brother or something... 

"Tera wants us to stay put," the boy groaned. 

"Since when have we ever listened to something Tera ordered us to do?" replied the girl- the black and white wolf from whom Copper had been running earlier. 

"Yeah but-" 

"Jax, quit whining," the coyote growled, sitting in beast mode. "Whatever's out there, she said it was a danger to us." 

"It's that thing you two were chasing earlier... the green and brown Pred. He didn't LOOK like much." 

"Tera said..." Jax cut in again. 

"TERA ISN'T HERE, JAXYL!" the wolf growled. "Nari, you wanna go snake hunting?" 

The redgold coyote wagged her tail in approval. 

"Blancwulf, Inuarai, you stupid..." Jaxyl yipped after them, but it was too late. The wolf and the coyote slunk into the darkness, searching for exactly what had been spying on them. Copperhead thought to himself that, now that Jaxyl was alone, he might be easy pickings... perhaps a hostage for Lord Megatron, a nice "I'm here, and worth having along" gift. 

"I can hear you breathing," Jaxyl said to Copper's shadow as the snake slunk around, presumably outside most bots' fields of perception. "And no, I'm not particularly adept at it... you're just clumsy. Show yourself or I'll ventilate ya." 

Copperhead, Predacon assassin, member of the illicit branch of the Destron Secret Police, found himself nearing the end of his rope. This upstart of a Maximal made a lucky guess, that was it. "You think you're a hotshot, kid?" the snake called into the clearing. "If I wanted to, I could override your core processor's security lockouts and walk you off a cliff." 

Jaxyl's face turned sour. "You wouldn't... 

"Nope... definitely not. I don't kill children," Copperhead replied. "But for you, I could make an exception." Copper pushed aside the brush, slinking into Jaxyl's clearing. The lithe Jackal-bot lowered his head, fangs bared, as his hindquarters and hackles rose. "Calm down, skippy," Copper sneered, his snake head distending, forming a bot's shoulders, spindly legs shooting from the serpent's flesh. Two arms, two thirds as long as the legs, folded out from within the snake's head, and bound each wrist were a pair of jet-black daggers (almost resembling obsidian, but definitely polymer, not mineral). "Like what you see? Might be the last time so get a good look, chippy." Copper's wrist blades whooshed deadly arcs as he prepared for fisticuffs, but Jaxyl was not having this. 

"Wanna cut the slag here?" the boy asked before kneeing Copperhead in the groin (Cybertronics have nards?), causing the snake-bot to double over... 

...but only as a feint. With deadly accuracy, the Predacon un-hinged his arms (quite serpentine!) and shot his fists into Jaxyl's chestplate, the twin daggers (fangs! poison-tipped!) running through the armor and out the boy's back. Copperhead simply gritted his teeth, raising the boy into the air (toward the burning hot sun... toward burning hot death! yeah! yeah!). 

"I told you..." the serpent growled, now nose to nose with the teeny-bot. "You wouldn't see it much longer." 

"Lick my tailpipe," Jax smirked, spitting a wad of... phlegm?... into Copper's face. 

"Little BRAT!" he fumed, hurling the Maximal into a nearby tree. "Two things to learn about being a 'good guy!'" Copper straightened, menacingly, but Jaxyl continued laughing (naturally, Copperhead's ego told him to ignore it, but yeah, his ego came close to being bested by this punk). "One! Do NOT go up against a Decepticon Air Commander!" Copper shook off some of the dirt and mud caked to his armor, then continued. "Two! Do NOT let yourself get stabbed with any part of a venomous animal." Copperhead smiled and gazed at the two green fleshwounds on Jaxyl's chestplate. They'd begun to fester with the Pred's cybervenom... potent stuff, some of the best, culled from Copperhead's venomous mind itself. "Of course, you've got spunk so..." 

Copper's forehead flare lit up again as it had before... this would indicate the bot was about to go mental- literally. The wounds on Jaxyl's chest closed themselves, whatever cybervenom the black fangs had injected converting itself to harmless CR energon. The boy was healed. 

"Three: Don't underestimate your elders," Copper hissed as his body folded back into beast mode. With a chuckle, the Australian copperhead disappeared into the undergrowth. 

* * * 

Pandemonium, usually the order of the day aboard the Axalon, seemed utterly absent. Nothing- short of one pod falling and Cheetor not reaching it in time (...found it, Big Bot, but it's slagged... no sparks for miles...)- deigned to grace the Ax's main sensors. For some reason, this caused tension among the masses. Rattrap found shelter from this malaise by playing his favorite video game- Convoy's Big Decepticon Thwomping Adventure, for the Playstation. Rhinox tinkered on one after another hairbraned scheme, supposedly methods for their rescue from Cybertron. All they ever seemed to do was sputter and die within moments, showering the Maximals with sparks and pretty lights; practical for little more than taunts to the slow-talking yet fast-brained rhino-morphic. Dinobot, on the other hand, stayed active, practicing his swordsmanship in one of the wreck's two holochambers- CR tank sized virtual reality devices capable of giving the user the perception of room where there was not. The Darkside did not stock holochambers, and Dinobot found the Axalon's well-appointed luxuries vexing yet pleasing at the same time. 

"A Predacon warship," the sharp-toothed and even sharper-witted raptor complained, "would not have such amenities... although," he'd continue with a growl, "they do serve a useful purpose." And Dinobout would follow that with a whirring slash from the spinning drill-bladed sword _Grim Lach_. 

Meanwhile, the more important of the Maximals- Silverbolt, Cheetor and Primal (the flyers- insufferable pistons sometimes, Rattrap pointed out), performed their most (unbearably tedious) noble of tasks: scout duty. 

"My duty is to inform the others if there is trouble," Silverbolt would drone to Rattrap, much to the pack-bot's chagrin. "For a good offense is a prompt defense... (blah blah blah I am so good blah blah blah handsome blah blah blah...)" 

Aside from dueling Cheetor at Playstation and taunting Dinobot to no end, one bright point of Rattrap's existance seemed obvious: fightin' Preds. A lot of that was had, too, since the Predacons outnumbered the Maximals by quite an impressive margin. Be it the multi-armed moth-bot Sin, the idiotic yet unnervingly powerful Waspinator, or Great Megatron, the rex himself... nobody was safe from Rattrap's hyper shocking... 

"Wake up, dope," Steeljaw growled from above. Rattrap was dozing again. 

"Ah, for bootin' up cold, kitty litter..." Rattrap smirked, leaning back and peering at Steeljaw. "There's nothing happening." 

"Oh, nothing happening," the iron blue cougar replied, grabbing Rattrap's shoulders and shoving his face into the viewscreen. "The convergence of twenty Preds is nothing." 

The rat's sneer folded into a frown as he tried to make something of the blurred screen. "I don't see nuthin'--" 

"Maybe opening your optics would help," Steeljaw growled even deeper, rapping Rattrap's helmet with his fist. "Look: Quickstrike, Sin, a batch of recently fallen proto's, too... one of them's Maximal." 

"You mean a convert?" Rattrap asked. 

"No... it'd show up with a Pred comm-signature. This guy's one of us... He seems to be..." 

"He's drawing them away from the Axalon!" Rattrap howled. "'atta boy, whoever you are!" 

"Come on, cheese eater, we've got work to do." Steeljaw hunkered down, his body shifting from robot to that of an imposing steel blue mountain lion, twin spike-studded discs mounted on his shoulders, the rifle and longsword he carried in robot form bolted to his hindquarters. 

The red and silver rat followed suit, shrinking down to barely shin's height with Steeljaw. He was tiny, but dreams or not, Rattrap could hold his own in a fight. That's why Steeljaw- though loath to admit it- liked the little vermin. 

To Rattrap, Steeljaw was like... another Dinobot. Yet less abrasive. And with more charisma. 

Smelled better, too. 

The Axalon's forward lift ground to a halt on the rocky bluff, and Rattrap and his companion stepped off. "Sounds pretty calm," the rodent noted, pricking up his hypersensitive aural receptor (beast mode had its perks, as always). "Got some comm static from the southwest, about three klicks... 'zat where the signal's comin' from?" 

"Affirmative," Steeljaw replied, padding off the platform. "Climb on my back- my alt-mode is marginally faster than yours." 

"Ah ah ah," Rattrap chided, waving one of his stubby silver fingers at the cougar, "don't forget yer physics. My added weight on yer torso would mean yer goin' slower than me." 

"Of course, my mistake," Steeljaw replied, obviously not pleased with his oversight. Even less pleased, Rattrap wagered, with being corrected by a pipsqueak wharf crawler. "Shall we?" 

"Ladies first," the pest replied, waving Steeljaw forward. The big cat simlpy rolled his eyes and hunkered down, folding his forelimbs back and hindlegs down. A pair of segmented metal bands wrapped themselves around Steeljaw's hind legs, and the ball-chain metal tail stiffened and laid itself across the cat's back, forming a makeshift gun turret. A tank mode. Very impressive. 

The two zipped off in a crack and a cloud of dust. 

*** 

The T rex- neither purple nor gold but brown and green, very natural hues- slashed at his enemies with the big sword he carried. "Take that, brigand!" he shoulded, carving Waspinator's head straight off. The green and gold arthropod's shell crumpled comically (for the others, definitely not for Waspinator), and was trod upon by the advancing Predacon legions. 

The seemingly anthropomorphic lizard turned as he picked up the sounds of oncoming vehicles. 

"Don't worry, don't worry! The cavalry has arrived!" a weaselly voice echoed off the canyon walls. The vroom of two engines- one buzzy, like a motorcycle's, the other a dull roar similar to that of a Humvee- rang through the aural receptors of the engaging Predacon forces like a death knell. They knew that the Cerulean Edge had come for their sparks. 

When Rattrap and Steeljaw transformed, whooping their Maximal warcries, all but two Predacons had fled: Sin, who simply folded her arms across her chest (and her stomach), and her companion, a dark blue and silver Transmetallized reptilian. Neither Steeljaw nor Rattrap had seen the second Pred before- probably one of the windfall that emerged right after the Planetbuster blew up. 

"Mind explainin' why yer little Preda-cronies were beatin up one of our own?" Rattrap demanded. 

The femmebot shrugged. Her companion, a feral-looking, hulking brute of a lizard, kicked around one of Waspinator's former arms. "He's my charge," Sin replied. "Meggs wanted me to yank his programming out and put in some of our own." 

"As usual," Steeljaw scoffed. "Well, you've failed, Sin, and we'll be kindly taking this new 'bot back to base." 

"Not if I have anything to say about it," the until recently silent companion whispered. In a flash of white steel, the blue and silver Predacon drew his sword, swirling it in an air-splitting whistle around his head. 

A fraction of a nanoclick passed before Steeljaw's own blade was out, clashing against the edge of Sin's newfound slave. "Your reflexes are most tempered," the masked foe hissed as their swords sparked off each other's lengths. 

"Yours are most promising too," Steeljaw replied, obviously impressed by his adversary. "Shall we take this somewhere less confined?" 

With a swipe of his sword, Steeljaw was out of the grapple, backpedalling into the more open cliffs, drawing his enemy away from the box canyon... and away from Sin and Rattrap. 

Speaking of Rattrap, the vermin had wasted no time in lunging at Sin, biting and clawing at her. The moth had taken the hint, and shot skyward, playing off Rattrap's acrophobia and lack of wings. "Wanna dance, Willard?" Sin snarled in the ratbot's ear. 

"It takes two to tango, wings," he replied, head splitting open to meet Sin's face with his boot. "Maximized right in the kisser, that's gotta hurt." 

Rattrap didn't realize the two were now falling, but nothing stopped him from having fun. Ah well, he thought as both of them slammed into the cliff face, good while it lasted. Sin was flattened, but Rattrap managed to push off of her at the last possible moment, flipping in an uncharacteristically graceful manner onto the desert floor. 

Dusting his hands off, Rattrap looked at the new Maximal. "Howdy," he said, extending his dirty palm. "Designation's Rattrap, Maximal Espionage and Tactical. And you might be?" 

"I don't know," the lizard replied. "I remember emerging from my pod and immediately having to battle... all I know is that I am Maximal." 

"Yeah, aren't we all..." Rattrap gave a sly look at the new one, then spoke again. "Once Steeljaw's free, we'll head back to the Axalon." 

"...the Axalon?" Big Guy asked. 

"Yeah, home base, the ranch, chez nous, kl'acha khomera... that's Sirian, ya know." 

"Right... Rattrap," Big Guy started, "where are we?" 

"Optimus thinks it's Earth, around 40 thousand BC... but... given some of the local fauna, I'd say somethin' more along the lines of... 2 and a half million... give or take a millennium." 

"Oh, right," Bewildered Big Guy responded. "Who's Optimus? The name sounds so familiar." 

"Fearless leader, don't ya know... Optimus Primal was in command of the Axalon when it crashlanded. You were in a pod in the stasis hold, just waiting to be released... I reckon ya came down when the Quantum Surge hit... but why ain't ya a Transmetal?" The last question was not directed at Big Guy. "Ah, never mind, we gotta get back to the Axalon- Steeljaw looks as if he's disarmed the Pred." 

Sure enough, Steeljaw returned to Rattrap and Big Guy's position, throwing a brachial subunit onto the sand. "Ooh, and quite lit'rally, too!" Rattrap chortled, scooping the dismembered limb up, much to Big Guy's shock. "Don't get worked up, kid, it's a hobby of mine. I'm workin' on a collection... got enough for nearly three whole 'bots." Steeljaw found this time opportune to switch to his vehicular mode, which Rattrap soon emulated. "Looks like we're gonna take it pretty slow back, considering Big Guy back there ain't got the same hardware as the two of us." Rattrap smirked, leading the two back to the Axalon. On foot. 

**End of Part One** Stay tuned for Part Two.


	2. The Salt Of The Earth...

Author's note: All characters are copyright their respective creators. I do not own Transformers and I am not affiliated with Hasbro or Takara, Mainframe or Alliance, nor should any affiliation be inferred, implied or assumed. Enjoy the fic. Historian's note: "Indeterminate Timeframe" events occur shortly after Aftermath, following the Coming of the Fuzors, and before "Other Visits". G1-set chapters take place shortly before Transformers: the Movie, dates as given. 

**Year of the Snake- Part 2**   


****The Beast Wars, Indeterminate Timeframe**   
"Decepticon Air Commander?" Pantera asked, tending to some of Jaxyl's more superficial wounds. "He really honestly said that..." Her expression turned grim. "That could mean one of two things," she muttered, grabbing some swabs from the table and dabbing at Jaxyl's wounded shoulders (apparently, the "harmless" CR energy had reverted to noxious cybervenom moments following the snake's departure).   
"Don't keep me in suspense, Tera, what does it mean?" Jax asked, before being silenced (with an audible hissing noise between his teeth) by Pantera and some antiseptic liquid.   
"It means that either Starscream's back to find me... maybe he's possessing some poor sap... or..."   
"What, Mama-YOW!" Jax howled as she rubbed more of the disinfectant onto his wounds. "Tera, watch the paintjob!" Jaxyl seethed as he rubbed the antiseptic away.   
"Sorry," the elder replied absentmindedly.   
"So what was the OR?" Jaxyl demanded.   
"Right, the or... or he knows Starscream."   
"Who's Starscream?"   
Pantera snapped at Jaxyl, something she rarely did in such high spirits. "None of your business."   
Jax whimpered- both at Pantera's scolding and the painful goo on his chest. "Are you done yet?"   
"Yeah," Pantera replied apologetically. "You can go annoy your sisters now." Tera stood, shaking off the stiffness in her joints, and put the disinfectant and swabs away. "Be more careful next time..."   
"What're you gonna do about the goon that attacked me?"   
"He knows I know him from somewhere, but..." Pantera trailed off, stalking into the night. Jax heard the familiar whirrs and clunks of Mamacat returning to beast mode, and he knew not to follow. 

***

****Earth, 1977**   
"Wasn't that just... I mean... gahh..." Sandy stammered.   
"It was only a movie," her companion retorted.   
"Only... guhh... I need to sit down..." The young oceanside-blonde haired girl stumbled (she had to have been only playing) onto a nearby bench. "It was..."   
"A half-rate sci-fi flick with terrible acting." The incredulous teenaged boy crossed his arms in frustration.   
"It was the first in a series of what will be the greatest pieces of cinema in history."   
"All that for... Hell, I don't even remember the title. _Space Fight?_"   
"Dan, you're kidding, right?" Sandy cupped her chin in her hand. "_Star Wars_, Daniel. Star Wars."   
"Whatever... it wasn't even Roger Corman bad... this was _Ed frickin' Wood bad_."   
"See if I ever take you to the movies again." By now, Sandy had stood, and was ushering her companion over to the pretzel stand.   
Janss Mall stood, a large open-air concrete presidio, on the west side of Thousand Oaks, a sleepy suburb of Los Angeles. It was a commuter town where residents, for the most part, lived in overpriced crackerboxes with shake roofs (also known as tinderbox roofs for obvious reasons), and puttering in their smog-mobiles the 40-some miles to Los Angeles every morning, and the 40-some miles back every night.   
Dan Witwicky was different, of course. He was near 30, lived alone, and worked as a clerk at the drugstore, filling orders for pharmacy customers, restocking shelves when they ran empty, doing menial chores. Pay was okay, he could afford a modest apartment. Dan spent most of his time with Sandy, the woman he'd want to marry one day, strangle the next. Dan lived what most would call an uneventful life. No adventure. No thrills. The occasional trip to Knott's Berry Farm. That was it. He didn't know what he was missing.   
  
  
Sandy gazed skyward, looking at the vapor trail streaking across the sky. "I wanted to be a pilot when I was little," she muttered, yanking her glasses off and wiping them with her t-shirt. "But my eyes kept me grounded." Pressing them back on her nose, she turned to see Dan stock still, staring at the door to the Safeway... no, past it. "Daniel, something wrong?" she asked, waving her hand in front of his face.   
"Nothing," Dan replied blankly.   
"You're sure?"   
"Absolutely," again with no inflection whatsoever.   
"Come on, we're meeting the Fairebornes for dinner."   
She had to physically drag Dan off his spot, at which time, his attention snapped back into the real world. Sandy could tell this was the case by Dan's yowling in her ear to "leggo" and "geroff".   
"Ok, ok, spazmo..." Sandy conceded, releasing Dan's arm.   
  
  
"What's up with you?" she asked as the two drove. "You zoned on me at the Safeway."   
"I did?"   
"Yeah, for a whole minute, you were staring at the door. Thought you'd gone mental." Sandy yanked the steering wheel into a sharp left turn, causing Dan to lean into her. A slight smile crossed the woman's face as Dan's head inched closer to her shoulder. She was taller than he by about a head. This always pleased Sandy- driving fast, making abrupt and sudden turns and stops, just to see Dan's reactions. It was a hate-hate relationship. Maybe a little love thrown in, as an afterthought.   
The evening passed slowly, smalltalk and red wine with chicken (Dr. and Mrs. Fairborne silently cursed the pair's lack of culinary expertise in the subject), stale streusel and Sanka. Dan almost leapt for joy at the prospect of going home to his nice warm bed, his heart sinking to realize the air conditioning was off in his apartment. Make that sweltering bed.   
"Dan, you zoned again at dinner," Sandy scolded as she parked. "You sure you're all right?"   
"A hundred percent," Dan replied vaguely again.   
"You're doing it again!" Sandy exclaimed, punching Dan in the arm.   
"Am not," he replied without conviction.   
Sandy rolled her eyes, and huffed. "Dan, go home," she ordered.   
"Right," Dan droned, opening the door and stumbling out.   
In a growl of engine and a squeal of tires, Sandy was off, and Dan continued to stand there, looking like a dope.   
  
  
If only Daniel Witwicky had known his great uncle... he would have known quite a bit about Transformers before they were even discovered. He would have known how his great uncle was vaporized by a wayward Seeker jet-type, long before Mt. St. Hillary ever blew its top. Long before the Great War spread its blighted finger from Cybertron to Earth.   
Long before the Death of Optimus Prime.   


***

  
****Earth, 2003**   
"Ten klicks to Autobot City," Hot Rod reported. Daniel didn't respond. "You okay in there, big guy?" the Ferrari's dashboard asked the young sandy-blonde haired boy in the driver's seat.   
"I guess. Dad's been gone too long."   
"I know... but Sparkplug's here to keep you company. He's LIKE your dad."   
"It's not the same. Dad and I used to go fishing. Dad gave me flying lessons in the Cessna."   
"You mean Powerglide."   
Daniel rolled his eyes. If only the machines in his world DIDN'T talk to him every chance. "Right," he replied without enthusiams.   
"3 klicks to Autobot city," the onboard computer pinged.   
"Hear that, Dan-O? 3 kilometers and you'll be home."   
"Yeah..."   
The rest of the trip was silent. Hot Rod knew when he was beat.   
  
  
"If you don't tell him, I will," Arcee fumed, looking over the technical schematics. "Prime HAS to know that the Metroplex cog won't be operational for another decacycle. And these defense grid components aren't acceptable." The femme designate shoved the datapad back into the arms of a cringing Wheeljack. "And you call yourself the greatest Autobot technician of all time. Get outta my sight!"   
No one had ever seen Arcee in so foul a mood. From dawn that morning she'd spit and cursed at her subordinates, never satisfied with the way work was proceeding on Autobot City. Wheeljack, Perceptor, and Sparkplug got the worst earfuls. Some of the Omega Ceti Tauian curses she fired not even Kup recognized. But Springer, O Noble and Naive Knight of Cybertron, persevered.   
"She's just stressed," he defended, patting his comrades in arms on their backs with a chuckle. "You'd be unnerved too if you had one of the greatest engineering feats in Cybertronian history to oversee."   
Wrecker Hook and Build Typhoon, between them, decided it was best to grin, bear it, and work their skidplates off. Not that Arcee was ever satisfied with their work, but, try as she might to negate their travails, Autobot City's construction continued unabated.   
Until one day, it was finished. And there was much rejoicing. Banners waved, flags fluttered, trumpets blared the opening of a new stronghold. Better defended than the Ark, more powerful than the Nemesis, capable of withstanding the blows of even the strongest Decepticon battle crews.   
No Stunticon could break its walls. No Insecticon dared sully its battlements. No Constructicon challenged to scale its turrets. Not if they wished to live, that is. The Metroplex would be the end-all be-all of Autobot bases. Never before, and (with luck) never again would there be the supremely powerful fortification that was Autobot City.   
Arcee huffed. It wasn't what she wanted at all. Of all things, the color was wrong. Grey where it should have been Autobot Red, orange where green was supposed to go. This made Arcee more irritable than a petrorabbit during an energon shortage. But, for the good of the Autobots, Arcee put on her happy face. Took her three hours to realize that, despite the colors of the fortification being slightly wrong (they still blended well, she'd later note), Autobot City was complete. It shone, it sparkled. Polished and primped for the unveiling. Rumors swirled that Optimus Prime himself would be taking a special shuttle from Cybertron just for the occasion. Arcee knew that the new City Commander's shuttle would be touching down soon, and with it, some of the new crew members. The roster said there would be fifteen factory-fresh Cybertronians joining the cause, causing Arcee's spark to jump. More like fifteen babies, she'd said to Springer over hot mech-ale after work. I haven't had to train fifteen new-bots and re-train thirty older ones in millennia... This is going to be hell."   
"I'm always here to help," the green and gold triplechanger offered.   
"Like that's going to be any help," she snapped.   
"Chibi-car, why're you being like this? I kept trying to tell the others you were just stressed, but this goes above and beyond stress... something's really bothering you."   
"I'm fine, Springer, now can you go back to your quarters now? I've got loads of work to do, I'd like some peace and quiet." She all but shoved Springer out the door and slammed it shut, clicking the lock three times for good measure.   
She felt horrible, but that was the point. She had to put on a good show for the others... only so long until... yeah, then I'll be free...   
==Not doing too good a job, are we?== came a chuckling voice, echoing around her head as if it were an empty metal shell. ==You'll have to do better...== The chuckle loudened, becoming more of a manic cackle.   
"Get out of my head... I thought..." Arcee scowled.   
==Thought we'd discussed this? Nah... the more I talk, the better the chances are that I'll be caught... and I can't be caught.==   
"Why are you...?"   
==To get to her== the voice resounded. ==You should know this!==   
"Get to who?"   
==Artemisssss....== the voice hissed before fading.   
"Who..." Before Arcee realized it, she was face to face with the new crew roster. At the very top, right before Motorhead and right after Mastershot was, written clearly in Cybertronian normal: Moonrace. The vehicle description followed: jet black Terran vehicle: something called a "Pontiac", a make year, model number, right down to the genuine corinthian leather seats. Energon usage ratings followed, and a few barely intelligble lines of adminstrative codes. "Artemis," Arcee muttered, looking over her dossier. "This says her name's Moonrace."   
==A rose is a rose is a rose.==   
"When does she arrive?"   
There was no answer from the echo inside her head, but the pad took up the slack. Two days. There was something going to happen in two days, Arcee thought to herself. And given the malevolant tone in the thoughts that weren't hers, Arcee knew that something would probably be bad news. 

***

"I bring news from the front lines," Ultra Magnus stated grimly, addressing the assembled Transformers below. "The Autobots have been forced back from mainland Cybertron, onto the Tryptichs. Moonbases one and two are the last Autobot installations in Cybertron space... Decepticons have overwhelmed Cybertron, and we are deeper into a war than we've ever been."   
The mutterings and murmurs coming from the crowd below only served to make heavier Magnus's spirit. "But there is, as always, a glimmer of hope. Work continues on new weapons to fight the good fight with. Classified though these developments may be..." Whispers of the word 'transwarp' flittered through the throngs. "...It is the opinion of this grizzled veteran City Commander that this war is not over yet!" Magnus's tone lightened, to lift the spirits of his new troops. "Optimus Prime himself sends word that the ore and energon processing plants on the Moonbases are working overtime and ahead of schedule in the construction of Cybertron's liberation!"   
The _Liberation_, Arcee thought... the ship Magnus had travelled to Earth aboard. Coincidence, probably, she thought... a nice icon, good for morale. But a thought crossed Arcee's mind as she sat upon the dais with the senior crew. There's always trouble where one would least expect it, and Arcee knew with almost utter certainty trouble had been readying itself to show its face.   
==You act like you've never spoken to a ghost before== the voice clamored in her head. Arcee couldn't speak at this point- the others were watching, and her talking to thin air would have a chance of arousing suspicion. ==I can tell what you're thinking, and no, I'm not actually dead.== Arcee's brow furrowed. ==No, I can't tell you my designation. But you know my mission.==   
Magnus had finished speaking, and was ushering the other senior crew off the platform to mingle with the bots below. "Never look down on your fellow Autobot," Magnus said, probably not believing a word of it. "They're the ones that help you, so it's best to help back." Primus, what slag he was spewing. He couldn't be buying what he was spouting, could he? Obviously, he did, and it made Arcee's stomach turn.   
Hers wasn't the only one. As Artemis overheard this, her marginally Autobot self sneering internally at Ultra Magnus's drivel. Primus Artemis wished she was back at the front, doing what she did best. But no, someone's hairbrained idea had put her on Mudball Prime, also known as Earth. Terra to some, Gaia to others, it was the same miserable backwater orb, tucked away in some stinking recess of a tiny star system. Sol, the name of the puny, cold star, sounded like the bottom of someone's foot, and the system proved that. It was not Artemis's favorite part of the galaxy... but there were worse places to be. At least she was among other Transformers, despite not sharing their quote-unquote politics. Autobot, Decepticon, the denominations made no difference to her. Among the Autobots, divers political factions, radical groups, unorganized anarchic subversion organizations all held equal sway among the populace. There was no paramilitary faction within... they left that to the Decepticons. Speaking of the Decepticons... Artemis felt ready to strangle the next Decepticon general she saw, not because she was an "Autobot"... she wasn't, not by choice, anyway. This was a bad way to encourage loyalty, to be sure. Shockwave had assigned her this little trip aboard the _Liberation_ to Earth, for the purposes of espionage. For that reason alone she wished his death. Artemis hated spyjobs, she felt they were below her. Dishonorable, as well. Wasn't war about overcoming unforeseen obstacles? Shockwave's orders- and the general attitude toward spying as well- made the honor aspect of war moot. Distasteful, to say the least. 

Lest she forget her mission, Shockwave had built into her an "allegiance failsafe"... pain coursed through her body with almost every thought of disobeying his orders. More distaste. She considered herself Decepticon. She fought for their cause, the freedom from the place they'd been forced into. Second class citizens no more, their credo, a way of thinking Artemis agreed with wholeheartedly. But some, those who had become corrupt in their quest to liberate the Decepticons, lost sight of the truth behind the revolution. No longer did those disgraces to the name Decepticon wish to be equal to the Autobots, they didn't wish to live along side them. No... The concept of Ambition emerged. And it claimed its first victim in Megatron. As the young despot gained power and, ultimately, followers, the concepts Artemis and some of her more honorable Decepticon brethren held paramount faded. Thus, the Decepticons, the "bad guys", emerged finally as a force that fought the Autobots not for recognition of some quashed rights, but for the control of the very world... and after the vanquishing of the Autobots, domination of the galaxy.   
  
****Tokyo: 2003**   
Rocksteady and Sledge grunted and chuckled at the crumpled femmebot at their feet. No match. Not even a challenge.   
==You might want to rethink that== a voice snarled in Sledge's mind, but as he turned, there was nobody there. ==Dumbskid== the voice chuckled. Sledge's arms were off in a second, an invisible force bludgeoning his head in with them. Rocksteady was just as unlucky. Maybe moreso. His torso plating was shredded in an instant, mech fluid gushing onto the pavement. It wasn't long before both of them were dead on the pavement and the femmebot- a boxy exostructure betraying the slim and sleek Dodge Viper vehicular form- was swept up in the arms of her unseen savior.   
==You have a dez, kid?== the voice echoed in her mind.   
"Fantome," she replied, still shaken from her near-rape experience. "You?"   
Instead of thinking his answer, the bot- invisible and manipulative- finally spoke aloud. "They called me Skystryke until a few stel ago... codename's Parseltongue. You're Decepticon?" he queried.   
"Convert. Born 'Bot, raised 'Con. You're pureblood, aren't you?"   
He said "My brothers are Thundercracker and Skywarp," with a slight snicker.   
"And Starscream?"   
"And Starscream, curse the name. I'm... I was... Air Captain of the homeworld defense fleet."   
"How come I can't see you?" By now the two had found an alley to duck into. Fantome stood against a wall, still in a state of near-shock. Her companion was, as usual, invisible.   
"Oh, that." Another small, unsettling chuckle. "I'm not supposed to let myself be seen. They can know my designation because it's only a codename. There are sixteen other Parseltongues on Cybertron, did you know that? Of course, now that you know my alt form... I'll have to kill you."   
Fantome let out a slight chuckle and a nervous smile. "Funny."   
"I'm serious," he replied blankly.   
"Oh."   
A pause. "Psych." Parseltongue's laughter swelled to a chuckling audible from a klick away, or so it seemed. "Ok, I'm letting you in on a secret because I know I can trust you."   
"And how do you know that?" Fantome asked, mock indignantly.   
"I read your mind. You're too scared that I'll injure you in some way that you wouldn't dare betray me."   
"Wow... a psion?" Fantome asked, her naivete showing through, eyes widening. This was obviously one of the more recent additions to the Cybertron race. She was clearly not used to seeing psionic Transformers.   
"Yep. One of the first off the line, to be honest... for about a hundred stel, me and Orihalcon were the only two psychic Cybertronians, Decepticon or otherwise. You've heard of General Whisper Orihalcon, right?"   
Fantome nodded. "Who hasn't? Only the greatest military mind our side of the Ridge."   
Parseltongue snorted. "Our side?" Fantome's optics caught a flash of a yellow and green Seeker jet body, shimmering like mist against the wall, a vision which promptly faded. Parseltongue's concentration was faltering. "You were born an Autobot, little girl."   
"So? It's not who your parents were..."   
"I've heard that more times than I care to remember," Parseltongue scoffed. "Listen, kid, you want me to take you back to your post?"   
"No... I'm on surface duty. I have to get back to my garage or my... human designate will be worried."   
This sent Parseltongue over the edge. "Your WHAT?! You're slaved to the meats? You cannot be serious... You should be obliterating them left and right. What kind of a Decepticon--"   
"I have my reasons!" the pearlescant sportscar retorted. "How do you know I'm not spying on the elite of the Humans?"   
"Because you're a sportscar. The only Terrans you can spy on are middle aged males with receding hairlines."   
Fantome crossed her arms, this time in sincere indignation. "You wouldn't understand."   
"I'm eight million years older than you. I've understood a thousand times more than you can even process." Parseltongue quit speaking, and Fantome wasn't even certain he hadn't left. A few minutes passed, after which time Fantome took a step forward, lowering herself and shifting to her alt mode.   
==Leaving me here?== Parseltongue shot into her core processor, making her backfire.   
"Wouldn't dream of it," Fantome snarled, revving her engine and peeling out. Even a powerful telepath couldn't track her... she was long gone.   
Parseltongue floated into the air, transformed invisibly, and jetted back over Tokyo, over the Pacific ocean, to a hidden island stronghold- last holdout of the Earthbound Decepticons following the Earth phase of the war and their subsequent defeat.   
The jet slowly lowered itself from the sky, dropping speed. Landing gear deployed, Parseltongue's forward wheel caught the immense rubber band laid across the runway, slowing even moreso, until finally, the green and yellow F-15 found itself at a dead stop.   
"Wonderful work, Parseltongue," came his a meek voice from behind. "I definitely see a raise in your future... possibly a promotion... Primus knows someone so dilligent and hard working as--"   
"Can the skid-kissing, Wormtongue." Parseltongue's nosecone folded downward as the immense jet-bot leapt to its feet. "Show me a quiet room and some mech-ale and I won't shatter your core personality programming."   
"Of course, Parseltongue, wouldn't dream of..."   
Wormtongue fell to the ground, twitching, as Parseltongue stepped over him, stalking into the hangar. "Why must Primus taunt me?" Parseltongue thought aloud. "Megatron's going to hear it... Starscream too."   
  
  
The clunking of Parseltongue's boots combined with the steady drip-drip-drip of the leaky roof gave Scylla and Charybdis the chills.   
"We're gonna git it now, I bet."   
"Yeeeep. He's not pleased."   
"Nosir."   
"Not a chance in the Pit he's gonna..."   
"WHAT are you two doing?!" Parseltongue bellowed, bursting into the comm room. "Your orders were to scan any Cybertron frequencies for communiques from the moonbases. You don't look like you're scanning."   
Parseltongue sneered, threatening the two with the glowing V-shaped ember on his forehead. That was all that was needed. Charybdis and Scylla went straight to work as Parseltongue stormed out.   
Another room, another pair of annoyingly slackened work ethics. Kalypso was playing cards with her partner, Kierce.   
"Something you're forgetting, ladies?" Parseltongue queried sarcastically.   
"Nope," Kierce replied. "What's it to you, flyboy?"   
"Ooh, I love it when you're bitchy," he snickered. Moments later, Kierce's head was on the table, out cold. "Kalypso, do your job or you'll be joining her."   
"Yes, sir!" she barked, overturning her chair and rushing to her station.   
This made Parseltongue smile from aural to aural. He turned on his heel, mood lifted, and clomped happily to his quarters. Tomorrow, he'd find and murder Artemis, loath as he was to do something like that. But today, he'd relax.   
  


**End of Part 2**-Stay Tuned for Part 3!


	3. On Solid Ground...

Author's note: All characters are copyright their respective creators. I do not own Transformers and I am not affiliated with Hasbro or Takara, Mainframe or Alliance, nor should any affiliation be inferred, implied or assumed. Enjoy the fic. Historian's note: "Indeterminate Timeframe" events occur shortly after Aftermath, following the Coming of the Fuzors, and before "Other Visits". G1-set chapters take place shortly before Transformers: the Movie, dates as given.   


**Year of the Snake- Part 3**   


****Earth: Indeterminate Timeframe**   
"So," Copper hissed, nearing his quarry, "we meet again..." He'd hovered above her in the trees for a good ten minutes, waiting for her to make that one false step... the one wrong move that would allow him to drop the hammer, leaping upon Pantera with great furor. This was what he was programmed for: destroy her by whatever means necessary.   
"I'm sorry, Arty," Copper whispered, dropping silently from the trees and transforming- stealth mode engaged- to bring weapons to bear.   
He was not silent enough.   
"You really need to work on your lightfootedness," Pantera chortled, elbowing her adversary in the gut. As Copperhead doubled over, gasping, Pantera loaded her elbow for a strike, bringing it down on Copper's cranium with enough force to send the serpent sprawling.   
"And you need to work on getting yourself killed easier," Copperhead groaned, getting up. Pantera allowed this, stepping back a few paces to let the ophidian stand.   
"I've been trying to kill you for millennia, Artemis, before, during, and after the Great War. Don't you remember Skystryke, of Cybertron? I do recall you bearing one of his legacies. And... before Unicron, a stel or so before, I think, Shockwave sent you to Autobot City, and he sent me after as a failsafe. When you vaped a dozen or so of my troops, on Kiribas... Wormtongue, Scylla, Charybdis... I do believe you did that unaided, as well, if I'm not mistaken."   
"Parseltongue, you bastard." Pantera's optics narrowed to slits, her hand cannon trained at Copperhead's forehead.   
"My forebears were legally bonded, thank you." Copperhead placed his hands behind his back with a smirk.   
"You were working under that... charlatan! Shockwave had no business running Cybertron in Megatron's absence... Hell, MEGATRON had no business running Cybertron."   
"I agree with you there... if it hadn't been for my brothers, I definitely would have crossed over."   
"Your brothers?" Pantera's eyes opened a bit. "Crazy."   
"Artemis, if I were crazy, I wouldn't... oh wait, yes I would." Copperhead spread his arms, exposing his spark chamber. "Shoot me, get it over with. Kill me and I'll stop hunting you."   
Artemis, much to Copperhead's surprise, called his bluff, firing off a shot from her hand cannon straight into Copper's midsection, missing his spark completely. The snake-bot crumpled to the ground, the wound smoking. "Dammit, Arty..."   
"Listen, whoever you are," she said, turning to walk into the forest, "it's bad planning to let yourself get slagged."   
==No== Copperhead chuckled inside Pantera's mind, ==It's distinctively good planning, and you've fallen for it twice!==   
With a swift kick to her head, an electrical jolt to her midsection, and a psychic shunt to her brain keeping her from screaming or calling for help, Copperhead had his quarry. Trussed her up like a hog, slung her over her back like a hobo's pack, and was off.   
Off to the ominous, looming black shape in his mind he knew was the home of Megatron and his crew. 

***

  
Speaking of Megatron, the immense, goldcopper and royal purple Tyrannosaur, in his love for the bath, had fallen asleep. His rubber duck- artifact of a civilization verboten to his kind- was clenched within his fist as he dozed. While the dragon slept, so to speak, his lieutenants schemed. Tarantulas, ever the bastard, who normally kept his distance during the tyrant's waking, now found the time to scavage the computer's databanks, yanking whatever he could from them to promote his own schemes.   
As the spider prowled the computers, he heard a slight splash, followed by a thump. Waspinator returning, no doubt, to a warm CR tank bath. Tarantulas disregarded the idiotic insect and returned to his work.   
"Looking for something?" rang a feminine voice from the doorway. Tarantulas, previously dangling from the roofbeams, using each of his eight legs to type, leapt up, startled.   
"Damnation, moth, your kind is supposed to be my prey, yet every day you seem to get the jump on me. Why is that? Perhaps you have hidden in those succulent compound eyes," the spider rambled, poking a mandible at Sin's chestplate, where her moth head rested in robot form, "some sort of device to hide you from proximity sensors. Megatron would be pleased to find that his..." the Spider could not hide his disdain, and unlseashed it in a rolling, manic chuckle, "...most loyal servant... has new technology for him."   
"Is it really any of your business, leggings?" the hunter moth asked in return, sweeping the transmetallic spider aside. "Get out of here before I have TORCH slag you for disobeying Megatron's orders... OR I could just wake the Lord up right now. I bet he'd be more than happy to vape you himself."   
"Your treachery knows no limits, flameflyer." Tarantulas's legs clicked as he stalked up the energon line. "Have it your way, but next we meet it shall be on my terms."   
"I look forward to it," Sin snarled, her rage bubbling. As the spider departed, Sin opened the CR tank's controls. "Readout on units Waspinator and Katana please."   
TORCH- the new computer system Sin had installed following the... purge... of her secondary personality- responded.   
-=Waspy never takes too long, you know that. I don't even know why you bother dunking him in the first place. As for Katana, he's pretty badly slashed up. That Maximal took a big bite, you're lucky you got back in time.=-   
"TORCH, cut the lecture and give me a status report, dammit."   
-=Whatever you say, sister. 40% reconstruction to left brachial unit. Looks like it was hacked off.=-   
"It was. New guy, too, hadn't seen him before. Vicious fighter, hopefully won't have to go up against him," Sin replied. "If'n I do, shouldn't be hard to drop and top." Sin cracked a slight smile.   
-=You take too much of your abilities for granted, sis, know that?=-   
"Nah." Sin switched the computer's focus from CR status to a schematics reader. "Got some good suveillance footage on the way to that pod," Sin said. "Oh, put a message in Megatron's inbox that I had to cut short the construction of the jamming tower: new Maximal pod and all."   
-=Atom-ass won't like hearing that. It's been a month since we got a new one, and the Maxies have had three podfalls in the last week.=-   
"Really, a month? How come I'm reading four podfalls, then?"   
-=Seriously, four?=- TORCH asked, clearly surprised that she hadn't remembered that.   
"Yeah... subaustralian ridge, Cyr-Vig sector, two days ago. Hmm... looks like the sensors just got word of it a few megacycles ago." Sin looked around, making sure the door to Megatron's bedchamber was still secured. "Wanna go take a look? Get Calamity and Intrigue on the comm."   
-=Channel open.=-   
"Little sisters, wanna go on a trip?"   
//What kinda trip, Squishy?\\ Calamity's voice crackled through the laser-comm.   
"Looks like snakes," Sin replied, rechecking the pod's records. "Yep, definitely snakes. Ooh, this one's a mean cuss too. Fangrel of Echelon Zeta."   
//Fangy's here?!\\ Intrigue yipped, voice overflowing with joy.   
"You know him?"   
//Hell yes, Squish!\\ Intrigure replied. //He was only the best spy Echelon Zeta ever had! He was on the Axalon?\  
"No!" Sin replied, surprised. "One of the DS pods. Thought they'd all been retrieved. TORCH, how come he's not in the crew roster?"   
TORCH didn't respond. She'd gone into sleep mode. Damned computer, always shutting off when she was needed. Not particularly useful in a pinch. Of course, it wasn't as if Sin didn't want to just yank TORCH's programming out of the Darkside's computer... no, it wasn't that easy. It was a long story, and Sin hated thinking of it.   
"Something secret and terribly clandestine," Sin smiled, tongue placed firmly in cheek. "Bet it's cool."   
//Where is he?\\ Intrigue transmitted.   
"Transmitting coordinates. I'll meet you two halfway."   
//Sure, Squish.\  
By the Pit, Sin hated when her sisters called her Squish. It was yet another of those annoying things about her sisters Sin despised. No matter, she thought to herself as she transformed, they'll get fixed.   
  
  
The sky darkened as night fell, Copperhead found himself sitting beneath the tree, savoring the moment. Every few moments, Pantera would move, or moan, and the Predacon would jab her with his electro-prod or psionically jolt her core processor, putting her back into submission. "Just gotta find a place to kill you. You heard me, Arty, I have to kill you. I really don't WANT to do it, but I'm under orders. Yeah, yeah, orders can be disobeyed, but you remember what Shockwave tried doing way back when..." Copper stopped, hearing something in the underbrush nearby.   
"Animal, vegetable or mineral, Arty?" he asked the unconscious jaguar-bot next to him. "You don't know? What kind of master Decepticon spy are you?" Copper blew air between his lips, vibrating them, before groaning his way to his feet. "Who's out there?" he called, readying a psychic surprise and a physical attack if there was an enemy.   
The rustling in the bushed grew louder, then a metallic purple claw, and another, two more, appeared from the brush.   
"By the pit," Copperhead muttered to himself, zeroing in on the mental signature coming from the purple claws. "Slanderspinner..."   
"Slanderspinner," a voice echoed in an unsettling chuckle. "Nobody without a deathwish calls me that..."   
"You always thought I was morbid, Spinner," Copperhead replied.   
"Fangrel," the spider hissed, shocked. "I would have thought that deathwish was fulfilled years ago..."   
"Yeah, well... you didn't check the roster on the Darkside, did you?"   
"No... and you are the second to remind me of that fact in as many megacycles... what brings you here?"   
Copperhead pointed to the sack of 'bot at his side. "An old wound that needs ointment, Spinner."   
"Call me Tarantulas.."   
"Oh, brilliant new dez, Tarantulas... Where'd you find that one? Back of a cereal box?"   
"Silence, bellycrawler!" Tarantulas hissed. Copperhead snorted, obviously finding humor in the spider's obvious tactical disadvantage. Tarantulas was, despite the obvious Transmetallization, not designed to fight. His beast form was too cumbersome. Too many legs to get plucked off, too few weapons. "Terrorize!" the low-slung silver and black spider hissed, leaping into the air and folding into a robot.   
"Not bad," Copperhead smirked. "Not bad at all, Spin."   
Tarantulas's monoptic visor narrowed with distaste. "Do you want to be slagged?" he asked, pulling out his razor wheeled blaster.   
"Calm down, sparky, or you're gonna hurt somebody," the serpent snickered. "Give me a hand with..." Copper waved his hand, indicating the unconscious bundle, "...this. I don't exactly remember why, but I'm supposed to take this to Megatron."   
"Megatron... what would that fool want with a pile of Maximal parts?"   
"Not exactly parts, Tarantulas," Copperhead chortled, "A Maximal elder."   
The golden monoptic shot from a narrow sliver to as round as the sun. "Oh... how... interesting," the spider replied, vainly trying to hide his glee. "Which one? Steeljaw? Magnus Hawksbill? It's not... dare I say... Liosolarius?"   
"None of the above... she and I go back quite some time."   
"She..." Tarantulas's optic flashed, as if he was blinking in disbelief. "Pantera?"   
"Out cold and in my fangs..." Copperhead hissed joyously. "Show me the way to the Darkside?"   
"What's in it for me?" Tarantulas cackled.   
"Half your usual fee... a finder's fee, so to speak. Find me Megatron, I pay you." Copperhead was already dropping to the ground, scales wrapping around his body as he reverted to beast mode.   
"That is reasonable." Tarantulas's chestplate swung out, his shoulder-pads moving down to merge, forming a wheel. The razor-wheel Tarantulas used as a weapon pinned itself between Tarantulas's legs, his head folding back into the neck armor. Moments passed, and Tarantulas was no longer a spider nor a robot: this robot disguised itself as a motorcycle. Copperhead hefted the still form of Pantera and lay it across Tarantulas's broad paddle-shaped abdomen.   
"Fold your forelegs back and secure her," Copper ordered, and Tarantulas, well aware he was outgunned in vehicular mode, complied. "There... stable?"   
"Seemingly... I've carried bigger bots than she without hindrance." Tarantulas's rear wheel spun slightly in the damp ground, but the cycle-spider pushed forward after a few moments. Soon, Copperhead slithering behind at top speed, the two were off to the Darkside.  
  
****Tokyo, 2003**   
"Celestimus!" Skyhook called, rushing out from the hangar. "Thank Primus you're here... the new-bots are nipping at my heels and I'm this close to the end of my rope..."   
The quiet Prime looked at his tiny companion and shook his head.   
"You have no idea how much this helps," she chattered as they walked down the hall, he, stalking in long strides; she, scrambling to keep up, breaking into a near-run in many places. "Arcee sent word from Autobot City in the 'states that she'd been having personnel problems, and she nearly went through the roof when I told her you hadn't arrived yet to help with the dedication..."   
Prime remained silent. This might be construed by those not close to Prime as being rude or cold, but Skyhook, and the rest of Celestimus's senior staff, knew better.   
Long ago, the great shuttle Celestimus Prime had been fought a battle so lopsided against his favor that in the months and years following, Celestimus spoke not one word. It was teracycles before he said the smallest of words. Teracycles still passed before he spoke in single sentence communications with those closest to him. The healing process was, as always, slow and tedious, and despite those who'd say it was especially painful for them, the pain was tremendous for Celestimus, and comparably immense for the Autobots stationed at Tokyo Base.   
"Attention Autobot City, this is Tokyo Base. Celestimus Prime is ready to transmit."   
**Understood, Tokyo Base** the comm crackled back. **Ready to receive**   
"Good hearing your vocoder again, Blaster," Skyhook chuckled into the mic. "When're you gonna take a trip across the Pacific and see me?"   
**When Ultra Magnus lets go of my ball bearings for a microsecond. Ready to send?**   
"Affirmative. Commander, they're ready."   
Celestimus nodded and stepped quietly to the communications panel. Momentarily, the image of a thousand or so Cybertronians appeared on the screen and Celestimus began speaking.   
"I am a bot of few words," he began slowly, shakily, still feeling extremely uncomfortable about the entire thing. "But when... Ultra Magnus asked me to speak..." Celestimus continued, pausing often. "I couldn't refuse the chance..."   
His diction began strengthening as his pace picked up. "To welcome the architects and technicians behind the greatest engineering feat in Autobot history. Congratulations, North-Am, you've done Cybertron a great service. Enjoy your rest, you've earned it."   
Applause and cheers erupted from the crowd and Prime stepped back, video screen dimming. Optics wide, Skyhook flung herself on the commander, hugging and kissing his faceplate. "That was amazing, Commander!" she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "What did it?"   
"I saw all my comrades... the Autobots were waiting... for me..." Prime's voice was not higher than a whisper now as he explained himself to his lieutenant. "It was... an epiphany. The troops I lost at Nekhrid Seven... they died in vain... they were disarmed, they surrendered, but they were slaughtered..." Prime's optics shut tightly, trying to block the memory, but it still came to his mind, "but they also died so that I could live-- to help bring peace to Cybertron."   
Skyhook smiled, tears rolling down her cheeks. "As long as you know Primus has his plan for you..."   
"He didn't have to tell me so like that, though," Celestimus replied gravely.   
"Primus moves in mysterious ways, commander," Skyhook replied. "We've got work to do, Prime... shall we go?" Skyhook extended her delicate hand, which Prime took. Hand in hand, the two best friends exited the control room.   
Scowling to himself as they left stood Parseltongue, telepathically invisible to every sensor. Nekhrid Seven played over in his mind...   


**End of Part 3: Stay Tuned for Part 4!**


	4. How Sharper than a Serpent's Tooth...

Author's note: All characters are copyright their respective creators. I do not own Transformers and I am not affiliated with Hasbro or Takara, Mainframe or Alliance, nor should any affiliation be inferred, implied or assumed. Enjoy the fic. Historian's note: "Indeterminate Timeframe" events occur shortly after Aftermath, following the Coming of the Fuzors, and before "Other Visits". G1-set chapters take place shortly before Transformers: the Movie, dates as given.   


**Year of the Snake- Part 4**   


****Nekhrid Seven: 1999**   
"Power down your weapons and prepare to be boarded," Parseltongue ordered over the comm. The red, white and black Autobot shuttle hung in space, not responding.   
"They've had their chance, open fire."   
The _Infierne_ dwarfed Celestimus Prime's shuttle form by a margin of about 20 to one. "Kill his wingmen, but leave the Prime. I don't want a full-out war on my side of the Ridge."   
The side cannons blazed green, lancing across the thirty or so kilometers that separated the two spaceships, creating orange blossoms on the tiny grey specks that hovered around Prime. Those were the Stratabots, a subset of the most elite of Cybertron's warriors. It would do well to be emphasized that they WERE Stratabots. At the moment, they were burning hot slag.   
"Direct hit, commander," Slugfest hooted. "Good shot!"   
Parseltongue sneered happily. "Lock-on tractorbeams to that Autobot... I want him brought aboard."   
Slugfest, a small green cassette-former with a bad temper, nodded and worked the keypad before him. "Tractor beam engaged." Parseltongue sneered happily. "Lock-on tractorbeams to that Autobot... I want him brought aboard."   
"Excellent," Parseltongue hissed, stalking off the bridge. "Finally, a bargaining chip for the Liege. For once, he'll have something to rub in Megatron's face."   
The corridor was lit with a pale, sickly green light that cast emaciated silvery shadows on the walls. It was the kind of lighting that pleased Parseltongue's optics: it made the tormentors- he and his crew- look ghastly, and the prisoners- Celestimus Prime- look ill and wasted. Demoralization was so underrated, Parseltongue thought, and so very effective.   
"The prisoner's ready, Cap'n," Verve informed Parseltongue as he arrived at the brig.   
The large door to the prison chamber rattled open, the chamber's inhabitant bound in electro cord, totally silent, unmoving.   
"Welcome to the _Infierne_, Prime," Parseltongue seethed to his captive. "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you... you're to be leverage for my master, the Liege."   
Parseltongue looked into the formerly golden optics of the shuttle-bot, now a dull shade of brown. The hue of defeat. A crooked smile reached across Parseltongue's face as his eyes narrowed. "You have no idea what pleasure this is going to bring me," the Air Captain produced a small silver computer pad and looked it over. "Do you know what this is, Autobot?" he asked, waving the shining rectangle in front of the Prime's face. "It's the control pad for the devices attached to your body... Pressing these will send jolts of searing, nearly unimaginable agony through your core processor. Allow me to demonstrate," the Decepticon grinned, keying in the first commands.   
Celestimus Prime's body quivered, arms straightening out, legs stiffening as the shockwaves of pain coursed through his body. Yet he made no sound.   
"Not gonna give me the pleasure, eh?" Parseltongue laughed, upping the torture level. Still nothing, though Celestimus crumpled to the ground, rolling in torment.   
"Strong silent type. We shall remedy that..." He raised it another level, but Celestimus remained silent. "Come on, Prime," Parsel growled, kicking the Autobot in frustration, "you've never experienced this much pain! This is the worst horror EVER!" By now, Parseltongue started supplementing the jabs from the device with his own lances of psychic energy. "You must be joking! Nobody's this noble!"   
Infuriated, the Decepticon switched the power off and left Prime lying there, the pain echoing through his mind, still wordless.   
"Not even a whimper... I'd never expect so much from an Autobot," Parseltongue snapped, firing a bolt from his arm cannon into Celestimus's leg. Tromping out of the tiny prison chamber, Parseltongue fumed all the way back above decks to the bridge.   
"Set course for Moonbase One!" the Captain roared. "Liege Furio waits for no 'bot!"  
  
****Earth: Indeterminate Timeframe**   
"I know who you are," Optimus Primal, the purple and silver Transmetal gorilla and leader of the Maximals, began. Sitting behind his desk, hands folded before him, a calm look on his face, he spoke slowly. "Steeljaw, Rattrap, could you give us a moment of privacy?"   
Rattrap made a move to speak, but Steeljaw silenced him. "Of course, Prime," the silver and blue cat replied. "Do you require anything?"   
"Yes, actually. If you could find Silvermane and ask her to join us."   
"Of course," Steeljaw replied, almost dragging Rattrap out the door.   
The Big Guy looked at Primal, a bewildered expression dancing across his saurian features. "You said you knew who I was, Commander... what do you mean?"   
"Let's wait till the colonel gets here," Optimus stalled. "Tell me about the first things you remember after your pod fell."   
The Big Guy looked down at his hands a moment, then gazed at Optimus, a his golden optics boring into Primal's consciousness the way few could... something about Optimus Primal rang very familiar inside the Big Guy's mind. "I pushed the hatch of my stasis pod aside... and it was hot. The air reeked of ash and brimstone, and I could feel something in the pit of my stomach that I was among enemies. I stepped out of the pod, and I remember there being a pile of fossilized animal bones lying nearby; I assume that's what my stasis pod scanned for my Beast Mode. As I looked around, I remember a woman's voice shouting from the cliffs above. She said something about the glory of the Predacons, then jumped out in front of me. After her, a strange blend of a scorpion and a snake joined, with a wasp, and a few others whose beast modes weren't obvious...   
"I ran, fighting when I was cornered, until I found myself totally blocked off. The canyon walls loomed above as I made my last stand; I knew that I was going to die, so I stood my ground and fought. Then Steeljaw and Rattrap arrived, and with them, salvation."   
His story finished just as the office door opened to admit a tall, silver and crimson femme-bot. A cascade of platinum hair-- actually several thousand prehensile micro-fibers-- fell down her back and the Big Guy immediately knew this was Colonel Silvermane. He stood, saluting.   
"Have a seat, we're none of us more important than anyone else," she said in a dulcet voice that was barely more than a whisper, but carried more authority than even Primal's words. "I had the comm from Optimus's office open while I walked, so there's no need to tell your story again." Silvermane thought ahead. No wonder she was a colonel. The Big Guy looked at the sigil on her breast- not a normal Maximal emblem, but one with three rays radiating from the Maximal mark and an ornate English "T" placed dead center on it. This was no ordinary Maximal lieutenant: Silvermane was a Trinity.   
"You are General Dracon Convoy," she stated flatly. "Your spark was pulled from the Matrix directly before the Axalon launched, and placed in a protoform. You were meant to be ferried to Terra as the new Cybertronian Envoy, a Peace Offering from the Maximal Council of Elders in hopes that relations between Cybertron and Earth could be restarted."   
The Big Guy blanched. "I'm... a Convoy Knight?"   
Primal nodded. "Placing you into a stasis pod and storing you as a protoform was a security measure. Quite a few Predacon scofflaws would like to see you slagged, and part of the Axalon's mission was to get you to Terra safely... looks like we've halfway succeeded," Primal joked. "All kidding aside, if your identity were known, the Axalon- and perhaps Cybertron's budding re-establishment of relations with Terra- would be in jeopardy. Do not let any of the others know your secret... you should be especially careful when battling Predacons. Several of them have the ability to enter your core processor, and if they went picking around..." Primal's eyes lowered, his expression exceedingly grim. "Just don't let it happen." The Big Guy stared at Optimus, still incredulous as to his importance.   
"But this is not modern-day Terra. There should be cities, civilization. There's nothing here but animals and lots and lots of geography."   
"No... we don't know when we are. This is, from my best calculations, the planet Terra, several millennia ago. And if that's the case... we have an Ark to defend." Primal looked at the colonel, then back at the Big Guy. "What's your designation, soldier?" he asked, a smile breaking through.   
"I hadn't thought of one..."   
Silvermane and Primal gave him the same look: think of one quick, bucky.   
"Er... my beast form is a Tyrannosaur... and I seem to remember... Tyrannix. My name is Tyrannix, Maximal Warrior, and I am at your service."   
"Welcome to the Beast Wars, Tyrannix."   
  
"Is that it?" Copperhead whispered sibilantly into the bush.   
"Yes," replied his arachnoid companion. "The Darkside." The olive green and scorched grey hull lay broken and battered, crashlanded on the ash flats. Copperhead's face grew grim and incredulous: this was the great warship that the "Mighty" Megatron commanded? It looked more like a burnt out waste processing unit...   
"This is it, eh?" Copperhead balked as the two tromped through the main door, lugging behind them the deactivated Pantera. "The Darkside, gem of the Predacon battle fleet... I remember it being quite a bit bigger when I signed on."   
"You were quite a bit smaller..." the spider retorted, and he was right. Between the time he was a protoform and his formatting, he'd gained a considerable amount of height, in beast mode, mostly from the acquisition of a tail, and in robot mode, his sheer bulk had obviously increased.   
"Indeed," Copperhead replied, sizing himself up, a good head taller than the spider when transformed. "Where's Megatron?"   
"Sleeping or bathing, I can be sure," Tarantulas mused, leading Copperhead into the bridge area, a vast chamber dotted with lava pits where the volcanic vents had melted through the Darkside's hull. A ship like it could withstand the immense heat of atmospheric re-entry, but molten rock was beyond its defenses, oddly enough. Predacon shipwrighting was a very inexact art. "The leader is always dawdling whilst his underlings do his bidding."   
"Dawdling, am I?" a voice, basso profundo, resonated from the doorway arch at the corner of the command chamber. "Tarantulas, you have returned, yess... and brought with you a new friend I see?" The purple and bronze clad Predacon Liege stepped forward, heavy violet claws clanging against the deckplates. "Your designation, my friend?" he asked in a voice that gave Copper absolutely no confidence in the Liege's abilities.   
"Fangrel Parseltongue, sir, Predacon Ops and Command, assigned to PBC Darkside on CRD 614:1800, sir."   
"Current Ops designation?" Megatron continued with unusual military precision.   
"Copperhead, sir."   
"Transform."   
With aplomb, Copperhead shifted to the mode of an eleven foot long Australian copperhead. "To your liking, Liege?" he asked from the floor."   
"Yess..." the rex replied. "You may transform."   
"Terrorize!" Copperhead hissed, splitting in two, contorting back into his bot mode. "Anything else, Liege Megatron, before I present you with your 'gift'?"   
"Gift?" the rex replied, cocking an eyebrow. "What sort of gift?"   
Copperhead lifted the sack- laden inside with the unconscious body of elder Pantera- and dropped it at Megatron's feet. Crossing his right arm over his chest, he spoke again. "Bah weep grah na weep nini bong, Commander," the snake quipped.   
Megatron snorted, halfway amused. "This should be interesting, yess..."   
Copperhead unbound the drawstring on the sack, letting it slide open, revealing the charcoal grey and starlight black form inside: a seemingly dead jaguar, breathing in a sound marked with Cybertronian tag. "Impressive... a fine specimen. Her designation?"   
Copper paused a moment. "Elder Pantera," he stated at length.   
Megatron burst into maniacal laughter. "EXCELLENT!" he bellowed. "Your first day among the Predacons and you bring me an elder Maximal!" He turned to Copperhead, his glee shifting to rage in a torrent. "YOU IMBECILE!"   
Copperhead blinked.   
"You've just sparked a war, you fool! When the Maximal Council of Elders tracks her here, they will trace her kidnapping to ME! Since you're a member of my crew, I am responsible for YOUR actions, Copperhead!" Megatron threw his arms up in frustration. "And you, _Protocol Officer_ Tarantulas, you chose not to INFORM him of that particular passage in the Pax Cybertronia? I am outraged--" Duh, Copper thought to himself, projecting it into Tarantulas's mind as well, the two sharing a silent laugh together. "--that both of you have failed to use any foresight... you're both remanded to quarters until I decide what to do with you. Where is Waspinator?!"   
"He left with Subcommander Sin megacycles ago, Liege," Tarantulas replied in his most effacing voice.   
"Megatron to all units, return to the Darkside at once." The livid Transformer returned his attention to his subordinates. "Return her to where you found her tomorrow at dawn, yess... or you shall taste the full flavor of my wrath. You are both dismissed... and Tarantulas..."   
The spider stopped, turned around, and stared at Megatron. "Yes, Liege?"   
"Touch Blackarachnia and it's the Inferno with you."   
Tarantulas nodded silently and stalked into the corridor after Copperhead.   
==Who's Blackarachnia?== Copperhead asked Tarantulas, silently conversing using his favored method.   
==The worst nightmare of any Mad Predacon Scientist: the experiment gone awry.== This was half-joking, Copper sensed. ==I reprogrammed her shortly after we arrived here, but the shell program mixed with her spark unexpectedly... gave her immense free will and a...== Tarantulas cringed mentally. ==...conscience.==   
==A conscience isn't necessarily a bad thing to have, Tarantulas==   
==What are you talking about? It's the greatest hindrance one can have to his ambition.==   
==Spinner, don't forget, I'm reading your mind... you have feelings for that she-spider, don't deny them. You consider her your masterpiece.==   
A jabbing pain at Copperhead's temple ended the conversation abruptly.   
  
  
The sun rose slowly the next morning, but that did not make it a cool day. Every micron the star rose in the sky, ten degrees hotter it got. The savannah around the Axalon baked as its inhabitants complained. The only ones seemingly unaffected by the heat were the three knights: Tyrannix, Steeljaw and Silverbolt, but even they had their limits. "40 centigrade out there," Rattrap moaned. "And only about ten degrees cooler inside... Computer?"   
The computer beeped.   
"Lower thermostat to 18 Cent."   
]]Unable to comply. Axalon's power output at maximum.[[   
"Any backup systems I could... uhh... power down?" the rodent queried.   
]]Primary security, auxiliary CR.[[   
"Sheesh... can't open a window without shuttin' down a slottin' aux. system," Rattrap muttered. "Wonder if Dinobot left an extra tail shield lyin' around... it'd make a good fan."   
Rattrap sighed, whirled around in his chair, and stood, only to come face-to-navel with Tyrannix. "Hiya, Big Guy."   
"Hello, Rattrap," Tyrannix replied, looking down his chest at the silver-and-crimson rodent.   
"Find yerself a dez, Shoulders?" he asked, sitting back down at the computer station.   
"You may call me Tyrannix," he replied, pausing, then continuing, "or _Teer_ for short," he pronounced phonetically. "It's a pleasure to be here."   
"Yeah, a real night at Brainstorms."   
"Brain... storms?" Tyr stuttered.   
"Oh, glitch, ya never been to Polyhex! Former glory of the Decepticon alliance, now it's just a tourist trap fer offworlders... Storms' makes a Slamdance Scorchburner that'll tangle yer transistors for a yottacycle!"   
"A Slamdance Whatburner?"   
"Enough chitchat," sounded an authoritative voice from the other entryway, "you two were to report to Snipe in the field ten cycles ago."   
"Right, bossmonkey, lemme jes' get packed up." Rattrap's optics darted from side to side as he turned off the power to his monitor. Tyrannix hid a small grin as he saw what was displayed: femmebots with no torso plates!   
Not my cup of mech fluid, Tyr thought to himself as he followed Rattrap to the lift. I've got more important things to hold my attention.   
  
  
"About time you two got here," the ferret-bot-- a bit taller than Rattrap but still infinitessimally small compared to Tyrannix-- snapped. "Been waitin' a teracycle."   
"Don't git snippy wit' me, ass-glands," Rattrap taunted, "or I'll show ya what a REAL sniper looks like."   
"You'n what Sweeps, cheese eater?"   
"Come on, you name the time and place, stinky," Rattrap responded, livid.   
"Enough! " Tyrannix roared. "If you're going to bicker like Combaticons, we'll all go back to base and you can tell Commander Primal and Colonel Silvermane just why we failed our simplest of tasks."   
Neither Rattrap nor Snipe-R were stupid enough to upset someone so large, and the subject was dropped. While they worked, however, the two lobbed insults back and forth-- friendly enough, from what Tyr could tell, because the level of productivity displayed by the two increased exponentially the worse the snipes got.   
"Just what're we buildin' anywhoozles?" Rattrap grunted, snapping a ball joint into its socket.   
"Tracking tower," Snipe-R responded. "Once it's up, we'll be able to see a Pred halfway 'cross the planet."   
"Ooh," gasped the vermin in mock awe. "Can we peek in on Blackarachnia while she's takin' a CR bath?" The rat giggled as he cupped his hands around his optics like binoculars. "Or maybe spy on Tarantulas playin' wit' his tinkertoys?"   
"That's more to the point," Tyrannix said, his first words in a megacycle. "The Predacons' illicit activities-- especially if they're to our disadvantage-- should be carefully monitored. If we don't keep an optic on them with undaunting vigilance..."   
Rattrap sneaked a glance at Snipe, whose optics were rolling over in their sockets. Rattrap felt the same way. Tyrannix spoke, uninterrupted, while the other two toiled.   
"...and Megatron will be vanquished forever."   
Tyr looked at Rattrap and Snipe, who'd finished the spy tower and were snacking on a can of energon goodies. "Finished yet?" the grey and brown ferret asked.   
"Err... yes," he responded. "We should report back to Colonel Silvermane before nightfall."   
"Not so fast," Snipe interrupted as the controls started pinging. "Pred activity 20 klicks northeastward." He shoved his nose into the viewfinder and scoffed. "Looks like my old friend Fangstriker's found a stasis pod."   
"Rattrap, what do we know about him?"   
"Him who?"   
"Fangstriker... is he a threat?"   
"_S_he's my oldest friend," Snipe replied, assembling his sniper rifle from its case. "I knew her back during the Great War when I was just a kid and she was a lab experiment gone terribly wrong."   
"Sorry to hear that, Snipe. Do you wish Rattrap and I to engage her? It seems you have... issues... that would prevent you from being effective."   
"'the slag you talkin' 'bout?" Snipe returned. "I said she WAS an old friend, didn't say I wouldn't slag her first chance I got in the Beast Wars..." He paused, checking the sight on his rifle. "Let's go," was only said when Snipe was satisfied with the gun's condition. Tyrannix and Rattrap stayed still. "Ya waitin' for an inegrated invitation, boys? Let's kick tailgate." Snipe shifted to beast mode and slunk into the underbrush, homing in on Fangstriker's position, leaving Rattrap and Tyrannix behind.   
"He seems stable," Tyr noted.   
"Ya dunno the half of it, Shoulders," Rattrap replied. "He's got a death wish, I think... he knows Fangstriker could whip his skids up around his aurals without so much as a scuffed fender, but he still goes after her. They have a past that he wants ta get resolved real quick-like."   
Tyr's eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon. "Let's follow," he replied, shifting to T. rex mode. Rattrap followed suit. Now the size disparity was even more comical: every step Tyrannix took was matched with fifteen or twenty by Rattrap. After several near misses, the tiny Maximal decided it was time to throw caution to the wind and let ingenuity come out and play. With a backfiring >KABLAM<, Rattrap's beast mode shifted and clunked away until he was a hot-rodding rodent, all exhaust pipes and attitude.   
"You really look foolish like that, Rattrap," Tyrannix chortled as he gazed down at the rat.   
"Yer jes' jelous cuz' you don't got a vehicular mode," the hot-rat chided with a revving of his engine.   
"What I lack in wheels I make up in sheer stride length," the rex smiled, still outpacing Rattrap. "Let's hurry on, Snipe-R's waiting."   
  


**End of Part 4: Stay Tuned for Part 5!**


	5. Upon His Belly He Did Crawl...

Author's note: All characters are copyright their respective creators. I do not own Transformers and I am not affiliated with Hasbro or Takara, Mainframe or Alliance, nor should any affiliation be inferred, implied or assumed. Enjoy the fic. Historian's note: "Indeterminate Timeframe" events occur shortly after Aftermath, following the Coming of the Fuzors, and before "Other Visits". G1-set chapters take place shortly before Transformers: the Movie, dates as given.   


**Year of the Snake- Part 5**

****Earth: Indeterminate Timeframe**   
Fangstriker hauled hard on the stasis pod, but it was not budging, no way no how. Maybe something could be done if she... "Terrorize!" she shouted, leaping into the air and splitting into her robot mode. "This should be a bit easier." She stood shakily at first, finally regaining her composure. "Let's see..." She flipped the control panel on the pod opened, took a look at it, and groaned. "What did Sin tell me?" Fangstriker reached into her belt pack and pulled out a small metal square with the insectoid Predacon sigil stamped on it in silver. "Open the circuitboards..." She did so. "...then replace the Maximal chip." Gingerly, she pried the Maximal data transfer micro from its seating and pushed the new Predacon version in.   
"Should do it," she sighed, closing the panel and restarting the pod's DNA and programming sequence.   
The savannah was dry and parched, sparsely populated save some mammoths- not the kind of beast form she'd want the new kid to have, too heroic and strong willed- and lions- DEFINITELY too heroic for a Predacon. So the DNA scannered opened up to find some yipping, cackling scavengers in the distance, shredding what was left of a cave bear.   
"Perfect," Fangstriker chimed under her breath.   
]]Commencing DNA scan.[[   
The computer scanned for a second and stopped, as if hesitating.   
"Status report?" Fangstriker asked tentatively.   
]]Abherrant DNA detected, re-scanning.[[   
"Oh... not going to hurt the protoform, is it?"   
]]Negative. DNA infusion commencing.[[   
Fangstriker stood back while the pod did its work. "That was easier than I thought... hope he comes out ok and not all fuc--"   
The hatch burst open and a large, drooling furrball flung itself to the ground in front of Fangstriker, slavering and snarling. "Where am I?" it asked, in half a maniacal cackle.   
"Don't know, really," Fangstriker replied. "But you're with a comrade. Fangstriker, Predacon Intelligence and Scientific Corps."   
"So whatcha doin' out here, gams-for-miles?" the brute asked.   
"Recruiting you," she said coldly. "Come on, Lord Megatron is waiting."   
"Megatron?"   
"Something funny about the lord of the Predacons, laughing boy?"   
"The name strikes me as familiar, yet..." He broke into a cackle as he walked behind Fangstriker. His immense bulk made Fang uneasy as they walked; she feared he'd trip and fall forward, crushing her. The event never happened- the monstrosity had more coordination than she'd given it credit for.   
"What's your designation, Megatron will want to know?" she asked.   
"Designation?" he queried, sounding the word out the way a child would.   
"Your name... what will we call you?"   
He pondered this for a moment as they trod forth, coming up with whispered considerations then barking them away as he changed his mind. "How about... Lockjaw?" he snickered, thinking of how he was foaming at the mouth.   
"It'll work," she said, looking at the tremendous hyena sidelong. "Hold it..." Fangstriker's nose twitched as she sniffed the air. Her ears pricked. Something was approaching. "Maximals," she snarled. "Better transform... arm yourself." Fangstriker's robot mode burst away to reveal the shapely feminine form within, but Lockjaw stood still, in beast mode, his eyes transfixed on the approaching trio of Maxies.   
"Something wrong, Chuckles?" she barked. "Transform!"   
"Right... transform..." Lockjaw looked down at his paws.   
"Don't tell me--"   
"It's--"   
"The pod's computers--"   
"--not my fault--"   
"--malfunctioned," she groaned. "You really are glitched, you know. Repeat after me." She looked into the hyena's optics and stated slowly, as if talking to a child. "Lockjaw, terr-or-ize."   
"Lockjaw... terrorize!" The beast sprung into midair, twisting and spiralling in a wave of shifting armor and bristling fur. The monster crashed to the ground, quite different from the slavering carrion eater he had been no more than five cycles before. He stood, hunched over, and brooding, but his eyes... they were not the eyes of a madman, Fangstriker could tell.   
"Something tells me this is going to be fun," Fangstriker quipped, turning back to face the oncoming Maximals. "Two against three..." she mused. "I like those odds."   
With a whooping warcry, Fangstriker dashed off to greet her enemies, with Lockjaw loping after her.   
  
****Cybertronian Moonbase 1: 1999**   
"We've arrived," Snaretrap reported.   
"Wonderful," replied the captain, a green and yellow Seeker-styled jet. "Alert command that the _infierne_ is about to land."   
"Understood," the purple and silver helmsman answered. "Moonbase Control, this is Decepticon Carrier _Infierne_ requesting landing clearance."   
//\Infierne, you are clear to land on pad 18-Zeta. Liege Furio will greet you upon arrival./\  
"Understood, Moonbase Control; _infierne_ out."   
Decepticon starcruisers followed a design mantra: imposition is the greatest asset; armament is secondary. The _Infierne_ was no exception: tall purple and black spires lined the ventral hull, creating a jagged edge effect, and twin main cannons shot out from the forward hull like a snake's fangs (it was not chance that the captain of this vessel was obsessed with ophidians). While its primary colors were purple and black, splashes of crimson and white- most prominent around the Decepticon crests that dotted the hull and on the barrel-tips of each gun placement.   
He couldn't hide his glee any longer. The reward Liege Furio was bound to give him would keep him happy for millennia, no doubt.   
"Air Captain Parseltongue requesting to see the Liege," the green and yellow jet reported to the guard.   
"Understood," he replied, stepping aside. The door slid open, admitting Parseltongue, who nearly pirouetted into the lift leading to Furio's chambers.   
"Excellent work, Air Commander," the Liege said, his demeanor pleasant. "You've not only manage to rid this sector of some very bothersome Stratabots, but you've brought me..." His voice chilled with glee. "A Prime..."   
"You are pleased, my Liege?" Parseltongue asked tentatively.   
"Indeed I am, Commander." The Liege pushed his cape behind him, sitting in down with a flourish. "The Infierne is to be refitted immediately, and you're to be given new orders."   
"Understood, Liege. Any information as to these new orders?"   
"Not at present, but be patient... I raised you to relish the time between assignments... enjoy the present, for it is all that is certain."   
"I understand, my Liege..."   
"There is no need to be so formal with the one who raised you, my son," Furio chided. He stood, walking to Parseltongue and putting his hands on the jet's shoulder. "I treat you as my own metal and mech fluid, yet you never acknowledge that..."   
"I... I apologize, my Lie-- father..." Parseltongue didn't feel quite right calling the Liege his father, yet, for the sake of his position among the Decepticons, he'd cooperate. "For the time being, what shall I do?"   
"Enjoy Cybertron while it is ours, of course," Liege Furio suggested. "Lord Megatron seems to have a suspicion that the Autobots' ambition to reclaim this place exceeds his own..." Disdain in his voice, Furio seemed to spit on the word 'Lord.'   
"Yes, father," Parseltongue replied, stepping back and turning.   
"My son, wait a moment," Furio's voice came as the lift's door opened.   
"Yes, father?" he responded, half turning.   
"Take this with you..." Furio returned to his desk and opened a drawer. "This is a reminder of your heritage." Furio stepped close to his son and pressed something arm against his shoulder plate. Looking down, Parseltongue saw what it was. A sparking, gold and purple Decepticon sigil.   
"Air Commander Skystryke Parseltongue, Your Rank," Furio said in an official tone. "Wear it with Decepticon pride."   
"Yes, my liege. Thank you... father." Parseltongue smiled and turned to the elevator. Stepping in, he pressed the button for the ground floor and looked back at Liege Furio.   
It was the last time he would ever see the Liege alive.   
****Earth, Indeterminate Timeframe**   
Copperhead's eyes scanned the terrain: no sign of Maximals or other Preds. He and Tarantulas could just drop and go.   
"Halt," Tarantulas ordered as Copperhead lurched forward. "Someone is close by... I can sense it."   
"If the old days are any indication, Legs, your senses are dull." Copper chuckled, stepping out of hiding. Immediately, the clicking and whirring sounds of weapons arming filled the air.   
"Don't move or you're ventilated," the hidden assailant crackled.   
"Good line, Minimal," Copperhead retaliated, extending his wrist daggers. "Care to show yourself, or do you want to play hide and seek all day?"   
"Stealth's not a bad asset to have, bellycrawler," the voice responded. She could obviously see Copper well; his beast mode wasn't entirely obvious as a robot without close observation. "'course, my Maximal pride requires me to show myself."   
A brown and copper avian dropped from the treetops, her lithe form striking against the cliff wall. The sun played off her armor in entrancing patterns, but Copperhead and Tarantulas were too wary to be ployed by her sparkliness.   
"Tarantulas," she chided, shaking the index finger of one hand, holding her blaster at the ready with the other, "I'd've expected better of you... coming into Maximal territory like that. You know I'm going to have to slag you back to the Quint age, don't you?"   
"Silence, spider eater!" Tarantulas croaked. "We have a gift for you!"   
"Oh?" Airazor asked, an eyebrow strut raising in interest. "Whatcha got?"   
"Show her, Copperhead."   
Airazor's eye turned to Tarantulas's newfound friend. "He's quite a catch, but not my type," she snickered. "I generally prefer fur on my males..."   
"Not him, Bird brain!" Tarantulas shrieked, his composure cracking. A spindly purple leg reached around to the sack on his back. "This."   
Copperhead grabbed the handle and hauled on it. Dropping it at Airazor's feet, Copperhead smirked. "One of your friends."   
"Oh?" Airazor knelt and undid the drawstring, pulling the sack away. She looked on Pantera's silent face and her expression soured. "Get out of my sight," she said without looking up. Her voice was cold, filled with a sadness Copperhead recognized.   
"I was going to kill her," Copperhead muttered, intentionally muting his words from Tarantulas's hearing with a small psychic charm, "but I don't want to anymore. Keep her safe for me?"   
"On your word as a Predacon?" Airazor asked, a tear splashing against Pantera's ebon mane.   
"No... on my word as a Transformer. Surely, even in the Beast Wars, it means something."   
"Yes... the word of a person, allegiance notwithstanding, does wonders," she mused. "Go now? Please?"   
"We're gone." Copperhead turned around and slunk into the forest, Tarantulas at his heels.   
  
Lockjaw grabbed Snipe-R in his jaws and lifted him, shaking violently as frothy spittle flew everywhere.   
"This is more sickening than painful," Snipe said to himself before being flung into a nearby tree. Dazed, he stood, changing his mind. "I stand corrected." He then dropped to the ground, unconscious.   
"Looks like Snipe just bought it!" Rattrap shouted, ducking under Lockjaw and throwing him a kick to the gut.   
"Can't... worry... bout that now!" Tyrannix grunted, lifting Fangstriker and throwing her. "Now I can!" The rex rushed over to his fallen comrade and knelt, knocking Lockjaw into a tree, unconscious, then checking the ferret's vitals. "Just knocked out... he should be back online in a few cycles."   
Sure enough, Snipe's optics were flickering on again. "Anyone get the number of that starcruiser?" Snipe groaned, rubbing his head.   
"No time for that, chum," Tyrannix chided, helping the ferret up. "We have to get you to a CR chamber."   
"Later!" Rattrap bellowed, firing a shot over Tyrannix's head, zorching into the leaping Fangstriker's shoulder, dropping the femme. "Sheesh... you guys sure pick bad times to quit fighting."   
Tyrannix looked at Rattrap, then back at Snipe. "This won't be comfortable, Snipe-R, but..." Tyr grabbed Snipe's waist and flung the much smaller bot over his shoulder.   
"Lemme down, ya big stinkin overgrown gecko!" Snipe complained, pounding his fists against the inch thick armor on Tyrannix's shoulder. "I can walk, dammit! Lemme down! I'll tell Optimus you disobeyed the orders of a direct superior... just... ok, we can play this game, I can deal with it. DON'T let me down... I don't WANT to get down... you can keep me on your shoulder as long as you want."   
Tyrannix was entirely unfazed by Snipe-R's fit as he hauled him on his shoulder for the long walk back to the Axalon. Snipe hissed and spat the entire way, but all-in-all, the trip was uneventful.   
"Shouldn't we have, y'know, slagged those Preds back there?" Rattrap asked.   
(Hey, slagging! That's a good idea!)   
"No... they were defeated; they did not deserve to die."   
(>Clang! Clang! Clang!< put me down or your tail gets scorched!)   
"Maximal programming sure can be pesky sometimes," Rattrap mused.   
(Talk about un-Maximal!)   
"It is not Maximal programming. It is common _decency_."   
(Common DECENCY would tell ya to LET ME GO!)   
Rattrap snorted. "You don't get out much, do ya Grimlock?" he grinned.   
(Good one Rattrap! Show him who's boss!)   
"I beg your pardon?" Tyrannix growled, glaring at the vermin.   
(Uh oh! Ratty got told!)   
"Nuthin, nuthin... ain't nuthin wrong wit' bein' a big Bot Scout. In fact, it'll probably come in handy sometime..."   
"That's better," Tyrannix snarled, putting Snipe-R down.   
...come in handy gettin' ya slagged... Rattrap thought to himself. "Wellsir, I got some recon to do... Vehicle mode!" shouted the transforming vermin, buzzing off into the forest.   
  
****Tokyo, 2003**   
As Fantome's driver hammered her accelerator, a small pinging sound began to hammer her aural receptors. This was definitely not the ping she'd wanted to hear. The silent comm opened up to the raspy voice she remembered from the day before. "Fantome, meet me at the docks. Come alone."   
That meant only one thing: there was either an ambush in the waiting or... something like those guys wanted to do to her yesterday... either way, she was slagged. It would have been best for her not to go and face the consequences later.   
"And if you don't come," the message-- obviously prerecorded, she could tell from the recording quality-- continued, "something very close to you will suffer for your irresponsibility."   
Fantome hoped to Primus her driver would hurry up and get to wherever he was going... her sister was in danger. Parseltongue had Mist!   
  
Mist sat, bound with electrocord and gagged with an electromagnetic vocal scrambler, in a corner of Warehouse 39. Parseltongue, her invisible captor, stood nearby, gazing at her pearl white exterior. "You're going to buy me help, little girl."   
Pacing, Parseltongue replayed his plans mentally, each clanking step on the concrete causing Mist to shudder in fear that he'd hit her again like he had when she'd first been taken prisoner. So far, he hadn't laid another finger on her except to throw her onto the ground. He was being almost... civil... as he spoke, also. This gave Mist even more reason to fear him. Primus knows what horrible things a madman is capable of, she thought.   
Have Fantome's hands stained with the blood of Celestimus Prime. Have Mist take the fall as the mastermind behind the entire operation by implanting false instructions in her core processor. Kill them both after they're paid the bounty on Prime. Avert war with the Autobots by portraying Fantome and Mist as two petty bounty hunters. Little would anyone-- Autobot or Decepticon-- know that the real mastermind was Air Commander Parseltongue. But as Celestimus Prime would lay dying, have one small transmission enter his mind: an imprint of Parseltongue's face. The image of his true murderer.   
The sound of a Dodge Viper pulling up outside gave Parseltongue the motivation he needed. Pulling a few telekinetic cords, he dragged Mist to the middle of the storeroom and opened the big rolling door that lead outside. Invisibly, Parseltongue watched.   
She untied her sister. Talked to her, slapped her lightly. Gave her words of encouragement. Pulled her up, the girl leaning against the woman. Took a few tentatitve steps toward the door, then...   
**SLAM!**   
The door shut and Parseltongue's laughter grew. "Stupid bitch, you should have known to save your own damned hide and let the girl die. What kind of a Decepticon are you?"   
This time, instead of playing the invisibility trick on the girls, Parseltongue went all out, conjuring an illusory thunderclap and the smells and images of battle and carnage... the accoutrement of Parseltongue's barbaric personality. The requisite feelings of pain were sliced into the girls' minds for effect.   
"Welcome to your future servitude, children," he said, looking deeply at both of them. "Hope you enjoyed the last vestiges of freedom you had... oh wait..." Parseltongue smirked. "Both of you were slaved to Terrans before tonight, weren't you?" He clucked his tongue in disapproval. "Too bad you never truly tasted independence. And you never will."   
With a simple thought, Parseltongue's red eyes flashed orange, then faded into violet. On the other hand, the girls' silvery-green optic lenses glazed over to pale, opaque grey. "While I'm on the other side of the planet brutally slaying Artemis, you'll be in Tokyo, rending Celestimus Prime limb from limb. The old adage goes 'one cannot be in two places at once,' but I think I've found a way around that." Parseltongue grinned menacingly. "Now, both of you, take off. Find your owners; nothing has happened."   
==You'll go about your normal daily routines until March the sixth... then, we'll both commit... unspeakable acts.== 


	6. Cold Steel, Cold Spark...

Author's note: All characters are copyright their respective creators. I do not own Transformers and I am not affiliated with Hasbro or Takara, Mainframe or Alliance, nor should any affiliation be inferred, implied or assumed. Enjoy the fic. Historian's note: "Indeterminate Timeframe" events occur shortly after Aftermath, following the Coming of the Fuzors, and before "Other Visits". G1-set chapters take place shortly before Transformers: the Movie, dates as given.   


**Year of the Snake- Part 6**   
  


****Tokyo, 2003**   
As Fantome's driver hammered her accelerator, a small pinging sound began to hammer her aural receptors. This was definitely not the ping she'd wanted to hear. The silent comm opened up to the raspy voice she remembered from the day before.   
"Fantome, meet me at the docks. Come alone."   
That meant only one thing: there was either an ambush in the waiting or... something like those guys wanted to do to her yesterday... either way, she was slagged. It would have been best for her not to go and face the consequences later.   
"And if you don't come," the message-- obviously prerecorded, she could tell from the recording quality-- continued, "something very close to you will suffer for your irresponsibility."   
Fantome hoped to Primus her driver would hurry up and get to wherever he was going... her sister was in danger. Parseltongue had Mist!   
  
Mist sat, bound with electrocord and gagged with an electromagnetic vocal scrambler, in a corner of Warehouse 39. Parseltongue, her invisible captor, stood nearby, gazing at her pearl white exterior. "You're going to buy me help, little girl."   
Pacing, Parseltongue replayed his plans mentally, each clanking step on the concrete causing Mist to shudder in fear that he'd hit her again like he had when she'd first been taken prisoner. So far, he hadn't laid another finger on her except to throw her onto the ground. He was being almost... civil... as he spoke, also. This gave Mist even more reason to fear him. Primus knows what horrible things a madman is capable of, she thought.   
Have Fantome's hands stained with the blood of Celestimus Prime. Have Mist take the fall as the mastermind behind the entire operation by implanting false instructions in her core processor. Kill them both after they're paid the bounty on Prime. Avert war with the Autobots by portraying Fantome and Mist as two petty bounty hunters. Little would anyone-- Autobot or Decepticon-- know that the real mastermind was Air Commander Parseltongue. But as Celestimus Prime would lay dying, have one small transmission enter his mind: an imprint of Parseltongue's face. The image of his true murderer.   
The sound of a Dodge Viper pulling up outside gave Parseltongue the motivation he needed. Pulling a few telekinetic cords, he dragged Mist to the middle of the storeroom and opened the big rolling door that lead outside. Invisibly, Parseltongue watched.   
She untied her sister. Talked to her, slapped her lightly. Gave her words of encouragement. Pulled her up, the girl leaning against the woman. Took a few tentatitve steps toward the door, then...   
**SLAM**   
The door shut and Parseltongue's laughter grew. "Stupid bitch, you should have known to save your own damned hide and let the girl die. What kind of a Decepticon are you?"   
This time, instead of playing the invisibility trick on the girls, Parseltongue went all out, conjuring an illusory thunderclap and the smells and images of battle and carnage... the accoutrement of Parseltongue's barbaric personality. The requisite feelings of pain were sliced into the girls' minds for effect.   
"Welcome to your future servitude, children," he said, looking deeply at both of them. "Hope you enjoyed the last vestiges of freedom you had... oh wait..." Parseltongue smirked. "Both of you were slaved to Terrans before tonight, weren't you?" He clucked his tongue in disapproval. "Too bad you never truly tasted independence. And you never will."   
With a simple thought, Parseltongue's red eyes flashed orange, then faded into violet. On the other hand, the girls' silvery-green optic lenses glazed over to pale, opaque grey. "While I'm on the other side of the planet brutally slaying Artemis, you'll be in Tokyo, rending Celestimus Prime limb from limb. The old adage goes 'one cannot be in two places at once,' but I think I've found a way around that." Parseltongue grinned menacingly. "Now, both of you, take off. Find your owners; nothing has happened."   
==You'll go about your normal daily routines until March the sixth... then, we'll both commit... unspeakable acts.==   
  
***Earth, 2003   
"Moonrace?" Arcee called off the list. "You're next."   
Artemis looked around, then realized after a moment that Moonrace was her. Stepping forward, her dark blue armor shining unnaturally in the conference room's lighting. "That's me," she said, faking a meek tone.   
"Follow me." The pink and white femme, a good head shorter than Artemis/Moonrace, walked forward with distinction, leading her Amazonian counterpart (the one with hunched shoulders and a hidden agenda) into Ultra Magnus's chambers.   
"Have a seat," welcomed the figure seated at the chair, his voice a rich basso profundo. Artemis started as she looked at him... he was a shocking white doppelganger for Optimus Prime! "Excuse the disarray of my office... Arcee, while you're out, can you check on the transport status of the GB-7 set?"   
The femmebot nodded and stalked out of the room, the dark cloud of her current mood in stark contrast to her brightly colored exterior. "She seems pleasant," Artemis joked.   
"She's not been herself lately," Magnus responded, silvery-blue faceplate undulating with each word. She'd lived among them for millennia, but some Transformers with faceplates rather than mouths made her feel uneasy. "Don't ask why, because I really don't know." Magnus looked at the assorted papers and image pads on his desk, searching for Moonrace's dossier report.   
"It's right there," Artemis offered, putting her finger on a graphics tablet, pulling it out from underneath a pile of schematics.   
"Thank you," Magnus smiled, picking the tablet up. "Say, you look awfully familiar," he noted, sizing her up. "Have we met somew--"   
"No, sir. I'm fresh."   
"I see. Pools must be nice this time of year," Magnus breathed, leaning back in his char. He folded his arms and sighed. "Who was your Tender?"   
Artemis was dumbfounded... she wasn't pool-born... she came straight out of Vector Sigma! "Tempest Ortunial," she lied, blurting the first name that came to mind. Tempest Ortunial was one of the Decepticon Lieges... surely Magnus would realize...   
"Ah, good bot, him... I think we spent a semester in the same class at the academy... wonder what he's up to now."   
"He's tending pools, commander," Moonrace reminded him flatly.   
"Oh, right, of course." Magnus's eyes narrowed and arched up, his mouth probably smiling under his faceplate.   
"Commander," Moonrace interrupted, "my assignment?"   
"Oh right..." Magnus put his thumb against the pad, scrolling the information down. "Weapons battery eighteen, procurations division. Report in the morning."   
"Thank you, sir," she said.   
"It was nice meeting you," Ultra Magnus said in a light tone, optics transfixed on Artemis's form. "Hope to see you around the base."   
Artemis took this lead to stand. "Dismissed, sir?"   
"Yes, of course. Have a great day."   
Artemis turned on a heel, facing the door, which opened to admit a scowling Arcee. Behind her was a red and yellow racer model with a killer smile.   
"Excuse me," Arcee huffed, brushing past Moonrace and throwing a data tablet onto his desk, then storming out.   
"Wow, she's cheerful," the racer said, sittting down. The door slid closed behind Artemis, who couldn't help but chuckle quietly.   
"Now, where's battery eighteen?" Artemis wondered aloud, looking for some signage. None was found, and Artemis continued wandering.   
She barely noticed the blueish grey elder Autobot when she slammed headlong into him.   
"Of all the underfueled... diode-blowin'..." he grumbled, getting up and shaking his head. "Artemis?!"   
Arty stared blankly at Kup. "I'm afraid you have the wrong 'bot, oldtimer," she said flatly, walking along.   
"No, dear, I never forget a face. Is it really you, lass?" Kup rubbed at his optics, clearing away nonexistant dust.   
"Yes, Kup," Artemis sighed under her breath as she walked away. "But you can't know that."   
Before Kup had a chance to follow, she was in a lift to another section of the base; it was too late to follow.   
The door slid open, admitting the tall blue-black model into the corridor. It was quiet, something Artemis had missed in the hustle and bussle of the last few days. She could smell the early March breeze through an open viewport, feel the tingly cool air rushing over her tactile sensors. "It's too nice a day," she thought to herself as she rounded a corner, this time nearly colliding with a tall green and yellow Triplechanger.   
"Excuse me," she said, making eye contact and half-smiling.   
"No, excuse me," the triple responded, gleefully whirling around Artemis and tromping down the hall.   
"See you've met Commander Springer," a cheerful young male voice spoke from behind her. Artemis turned a quarter of the way around, her eyes meeting a bluish purple Construction unit.   
"Hello," she said quietly, sizing him up.   
"Hi, I'm Planck."   
"Ar... Moonrace."   
"Nice to meet you. Where ya stationed?" asked the rocksaw Transformer with his killer smile.   
"Weapons battery 18," she stated briskly, looking Planck straight in the optics. He didn't have wings. But he was kinda cute all things considered.   
"Really? Me too!" he laughed, the killer smile showing through again.   
"No joke," Artemis replied, faking a smile. Maybe she wasn't faking; at this point in time she couldn't tell. "Then you can show me the way; I'm a bit new here, and I think I'm lost."   
"Nope," Planck replied, shrugging. "I was just on my way away from Bat-18; follow that corridor about 20 paces, then take a left. It's printed real big on the door."   
"Thank you," Artemis replied deferentially, then walked off per Planck's directions.   
As certain as a Junkion is unintelligible, Artemis found battery 18 and reported in.   
"We won't be needing you for a while; you can retire to quarters or the common area downstairs," her supervisor, someone they called Windcharger, stated, totally emotionless.   
Artemis turned back toward the corridor and stepped a few paces, only to see a solid white cyberjet, flecked with blue and red, tromping her direction. Kup, in his old age, might not recognize Artemis in her slightly-altered form, but Skyfire knew better. Had better eyesight, too. No choice left, she thought to herself as she dropped to the floor, her parts slipping into position, giving her the outward appearance of a Terran automobile. A 1968 Pontiac GTO, in particular. "Always hated the '68s," Artemis grumbled to herself, creeping forward. "'67s were the slot." Skyfire's immense leg swept past her as she idled.   
"No transformations indoors, Ultra Magnus's orders," the Air Captain cheerfully reminded the much smaller muscle-car. Then he tromped past. Too close, Artemis thought to herself. Why the slot hadn't he recognized her, though? 1967 or 1968, there still weren't many Autobot GTO's about, not even at Michigan base. "Take what you can get, 'Moonrace'," she told herself as she sprung open again.   
Where did Shockwave come up with that name, anyway? Primus knew it was gonna cause problems; Moonracer, one of the Autobot Femmeforce back home, had a fanclub on Earth. This was going to hurt, she thought to herself, rage building. She then calmed, thinking of squeezing every last ounce of life from Shockwave's single LED optic. A broad grin played across her face, and she actually started whistling as she walked.   
"So, ya like Weird Al, too, huh?" a small voice chuckled behind her.   
For booting up cold, she didn't need yet ANOTHER "friendly face" to welcome her aboard- some bots just like to be left alone.   
"I s'pose you could say that," Artemis replied with feigned interest in the small cassette's conversation. "I, uh, picked some of his stuff up in town... got on the Net to hear the rest."   
Snorkel smiled and introduced himself, straining even to reach Artemis's middle finger in his lopsided attempt at a handshake, optics firmly fixed on the femme's torso plating.   
"I'm Moonrace--"   
Before she could say, "and I'm very busy," Snorkel was hopping up and down.   
"IT'S ACTUALLY YOU?!" the tape yipped, jumping up and down, perverted smirk stretching his face out of proportion.   
Artemis's grin deflated faster than Starscream's ego at a Cobra Elite convention.   
Without even saying "no, it's Moonrace, no R and get away you filthy pervert" she stalked off, hoping to find somewhere to be alone.   
"Finally," Artemis sighed, her head resting against the door to her quarters. "Peace."   
==No peace, no quarter. No quarter, no sanctuary.==   
Artemis hissed in pain and grabbed her cranial unit, eyes narrowing. "The slot?!" was all she could manage before a heavy object struck the back of her neck, sending her sprawling into unconsciousness.  
  
"You've eluded me too long, Artemis," Parseltongue growled to the reviving Transformer. "Shockwave's going to be happy when I bring you in... well, first he'll be furious because you couldn't kill Magnus... then once he knows that I obliterated your spark..." A sick chuckle echoed in Artemis's head.   
"Thought you liked me," she spat, optics shifting to regain her bearing.   
"Not going to help." The sound of Parseltongue's steps echoed around in what seemed to be a large chamber. "I psionically masked your perceptions. We could be on Cybertron for all you know."   
Artemis knew that engaging her comm would be no use, Parseltongue wasn't stupid.   
"Get it over with, Primus-dammit," she growled. "You've spent too long gloating over my capture and not enough doing your job."   
"Artemis..." he whispered sibilantly. "So impetuous, like always. Patience is a virtue, my dear, your comeuppance will--"   
He was cut off by the sound of her shackles exploding. "The slot?!" Parseltongue seethed, dropping his psychic shroud and dashing to Artemis's rack. "How in the hell?!"   
Artemis had vanished. "Lights on!" he ordered, throwing the room in green illumination.   
"Two can play at this," Artemis called from the aether. "I know you well enough, Parseltongue..."   
This infuriated the Air Captain, sending him tearing around the sealed room searching for his quarry. "Base lockdown!" he ordered into the comm. "No one gets in, no one gets out!"   
The klaxon blasted, sending the base into a state of pandemonium. The troops mobilized, searching every sector of the base.   
Their searches were in vain, of course, as Artemis hadn't gone anywhere. Shaking her head, she hid under the table, using every ounce of her strength to hide her mind from Parseltongue.   
"Not gonna get me that easily," she muttered, watching the Seeker storm out of the interrogation chamber. "Now, where did he stash..."   
Her foot clunked against something on the floor as she walkd. Artemis looked down and realized it was a small metal box. Picking it up and opening it, she scoffed.   
"He _is_ an idiot." She pulled her hand cannon from the box and charged it. "This is going to be too easy... getting out of here'll be the hard part."   
Wormtongue fell, a burning hole in his chest, stasis lock frazzling his circuits. One down.   
Kierce and Kalypso were next, heads smashed in and laser burns smoking, but alive. That's two and three.   
Charybdis's legs were vaporized; Scylla's arms had come undone from their sockets; repair sequences initiated. Four, five.   
Six, Seven and Eight fell the easiest; a tripwire across a hallway and a quick, stunning laserbolt to the back of each head.   
Nine and Ten provided a bit of a challenge: they actually fought back, not fearing the Amazonian form with her ebon armor and vivid blue shots of death. This was not so say they fought back particularly WELL, as Artemis made short work of them, too, dropping them down an elevator shaft to their near doom.   
"Slotting single terrain vehicle mode," she cursed as she reached a door, smelling the salty sea air. "I'm on a frickin' island." The sunlight pouring into the compound nearly blinded her dark-acclimated optics as she stumbled into daylight. As if a step ahead of her, there was Parseltongue, standing on the dock, arms crossed.   
"Going somewhere, love?" he asked, sneering.   
"You're never gonna leave me alone, are you?" she scowled, drawing her weapon.   
"Not until you finish your work, Artemis. Poor thing, you're so tired... why not..."   
Parseltongue's mind-hand reached into Artemis's consciousness, but he felt resistance. This was unusual, especially since he'd so recently scoured her brain for information. "Now that's not right," he hissed, pressing harder into her mind. The further he pushed, the harder her mind resisted, until finally, his mental hand snapped back like a rubber band. He scowled, placing a hand at his temple.   
"What the slot did you do?" he groaned.   
"I have no idea." Artemis bolted for the other side of the dock, using Copperhead's incapacity to act to her advantage. Thank Primus! she thought, seeing a speedboat. Firing blindly behind her, Artemis rolled to the ground and onto the boat's deck. While her enemy howled in his pain, she'd be the opportunistic bot Alpha Trion was so proud of and take her chances on the open ocean.   
And the boat buzzed into the ocean.   
  
****Earth, 2005**   
"FALL.... FALL!" Megatron screamed, unleashing bolt after agonizing bolt into Optimus Prime's already wounded midsection. Before long... it was too late. Planck was too badly damaged, too weak, to do anything. But he was so close.   
His "brothers", those... those who used to create, build, fortify, those who now chose to follow the steel tyrant on his campaign of conquest, had merged with one another. His "brother" Devastator remorselessly crushed his legs in the battle. Primus, why did something like this always happen? Betrayal at every turn, some new intrigue making his life hellish. Rumors had swirled during Autobot City's construction; rumors of Decepticon spies sent to assassinate high-up Autobots... then the disappearance of one of the new crew... and the rumors that followed that, linking the two... and the murder of Celestimus Prime... But any connection was all speculation, wasn't it? Planck thought with his last ounces of strength. She was so pretty, and unassuming, and pretty... she couldn't have been one of them.   
Many Autobots joined the Matrix that fateful day. Planck went from being his own 'bot, his own person, to being a statistic on a casualty report.   
  
Such is War. 

**End of Part The First**


End file.
